Subconscious Threat
by Starry's Light
Summary: Relationship problems were always a thing, but most especially so in the "End of Days". Demons, JP's, and a dense boyfriend lead to the breakdown of the protagonist, and behind him but a path built with chaos.
1. Thursday

**Hello there! Ever since last year when my mom got me Devil Survivor 2: Record Breaker on some crazy whim, I have been overly obsessed with this game. So I mean of course I have to write a fanfiction about it, duh!**

 **Let's see... I guess I should list some basics about it. It's gonna be pretty short (for what I usually write) so if you don't like long stories look forward to that. Also the main character has the lamest of names, Starra Terr (a pun both on my fanfiction name and "starter" because I haven't played the first game hahahahahaha) and he's kind of but not like the MC in DS2. What else... If you're looking for a story where I hate on some character, sorry but the only character I'm not in love with is Mizar... cuz... cuz _Mizar_.**

 **Okay! Ummm welcome!**

The Fifth Day

Drawing a long, slender hand over my face, I tried to breathe. Slightly tanning skin peeked through my pinched eyes, and it was easy to see, in the cupped palm in front of me, simply that: the image of the monster we just slew.

I felt bad when we defeated them. I didn't know. I just... That was probably bad.

It certainly didn't help me. I grew distracted in battle, opened pockets of attack. Ah, it's like Yamato mentioned— _If you continue with this, I'm afraid I'll lose a valuable asset. And I'm sure we don't want that_. It was hard telling him what I _did_ want and _didn't_ want, so he rather easily decided for himself my main interests.

And what were my interests, exactly..? I wasn't so sure myself. Was anyone, at that time? Well. I doubt it.

"U-Umm..." A soft, feathery voice broke through my thoughts. I drew my hand back to my side and glanced off to the girl beside me. Io's serene, pale face, rosy brown eyes and bobbed rosy brown hair met me. She had her lips pursed together, shaking somewhat. She gave off the sense that she was cold; I scooted closer to her.

I towered a little over her, which I guess boys usually like to have when they talk with others. Girls mostly. I think. I'm still not sure. Nodding, my grin pinching my lip, I asked with my eyes for her to go on.

"Well... I was just thinking, um... Starra..." Eying this way, eying there. Shadows gathered like hands about us, and certain pockets were shady enough to suggest the coat of demons. Particularly Io glanced about _there._ Behind us, mostly. She would hold up and stop and look and stop again and look back at me. And then she would smile, a little shy, the sorry ready to be spoken but cowardly enough to stay in hiding.

She started again, lightly pink. "I was just wondering... u-um, if we really only have two more days of this. R-Right? I mean..." Head turned again. She couldn't bring herself to look toward me. "After that... I wonder what happens... when a-all of the..." She paused, drawing for the word. "Th-The Sep—Septentriones are all gone..."

Perhaps it's only been so long that we were shoved into the world of demons, of Septentriones, of all the other questions hanging above our heads now; I liked them. I really liked them now—Io, and Joe, and Hinako, and...

She had a soft way of doing things, Io. She liked to study. She wasn't one who wished to be moved from her place in the world, from what she wanted and what she liked—the happiness of others before her own. Simple-minded at times, but altogether sweet and adoring.

Smiling weakly, she waited as I nodded back and bumped into her. It caused a giggle in turn. A tiny Io giggle: thoughtful, gentle, whole.

Pausing. She looked up into the sky, into the spectacle of stars, and she drew in a breath again, whispering, "I wonder what it'll be like... What do you—u-umm..." She glanced down. "Do you think it'll be... a nice thing? Whe-When all the Septentriones are gone... and... wh-whatever's next is... revealed? And, hopefully, resolved?"

I nodded again. Of course...

Her face lit up in an aureole of color. Only on the edges, and not at all fully, not at all fulsome or fickle or irksome, just an Io lightness that made the others thankful for her. "Y-Yeah... I-I like to think that, too." Something nice...

Did she know that I cared about her? It... It was hard to show, but I did. A lot.

Like... a sister, I guess. I never had a sibling—and Daichi didn't count—but she was a warm presence, and I liked walking with her, talking with her in the semi-warmth of the evening, just before the curtains of night came crashing in.

She thought the Septentriones were creepy. But she had a few demons she was attached to, so. Sometimes when I mentioned how I felt about the monsters and vanquishing them to their Hell, she'd alter, stifled, on her own opinion. Face flushed, stepping back, thinking, thinking, notoriously tweaking. The poor thing. Poor, sweet Io.

 _Tmp tmp tmp tmp_...

We both turned, each our own shade of flustered. Io squeaked as the suited creature stepped forth into a close enough distance to see. By then she's grinning, and I lifted a hand and waved, all bubbly and excitement. Then—ah, but I must—I tore down the little street and bumbled up toward him, mouthing his name clearly.

Dark glasses glisten about the eye. A smooth lip, soft whistling, one foot tapping cheerfully into the street with the pumping of my own shoes and his hand folded on one side. "Oh, hey guys! I did _not_ expect you here, uh?" Chuckle. Joe's nodding to himself then.

Io followed after me, nodding in turn. "Well... it's always nice to see you..! Heheh..." Gently she squeezed in beside me, our shoulders bumping, her face bright and warm.

And then there was only one missing. I shook my head, bit my lip, sighed. It was nothing. Be-Besides...

"Heeeey, Starra, why's the long face? It looks kinda dorky on you—heh," Joe remarked, smooth voice pulling me back to his sight. He dominated by a good few inches over the both of us, Io and I more nearing in size.

Daichi was a little taller than me. But—But just a little. Though I think he liked that, being taller than his...

"Hey—there it is again. Dude, what's up? C'mon, you can tell us."

Then he remembered. Joe, embarrassed, tipped his dark hat toward me. The white stripes, small and thin, reminded me of the stars overhead, as he kept those pale fingers doffed with his hat and stuffed the other hand into his suit pocket, unearthing a worn-out pen and some folded-over papers. Most of it had scratches of ink without rhythm in circles; some plucked out could find symmetry, but we mostly wrote wherever the pen fell, so it was a bit of an eclectic art.

He plopped the paper in my hands. Grinning, sharing in his red tinge, I unfolded and unwrapped the parchment, grasping the pen, quickly scribbling out:

 **Don't worry about it!**

Joe shoved himself toward my other side, and we squinted at the paper in the semidarkness. Pouting, Io rustled a bit against me, then mumbled an apology, then pouted again. Her rosy red jacket rubbed against me.

Because that's how he did things, Joe took a fistful of my hood and pulled it over my head. Curly hair crawled into my eyes and itched—a lot—as he hummed to himself, taking the pen and tacking his words.

He'd scratched out my sentence. Below it read, **What's going on?**

Blushing. I shook my head. Io pouted again, a soft moue in my ear. Joe tapped his foot on a distinguished bit onto granite earth, then tapped at his question, stuffing the pen in my fisted fingers that I couldn't close fast enough.

I was tempted to write some trivial problem. But... well... Io's gentle whisper, Joe's smooth, languid speech... I... well... I didn't have that. They wouldn't know.

Strangely the Septentriones came to mind as I flourished the point of the pen, pulling it into the quality pages. Their cries of gibberish, their transcendence into a plane of existence we had yet to comprehend, their incomprehensible faces as they were all but lost to the rest of the world. And... strange to think, we may have been the only ones to see it.

Swallowing, I quickly managed.

 **I miss him**

Quiet.

They weren't... dense. My friends. It was nice, having them draw out from my pained expressions what I thought, what I felt, what I sought long for... A nice person who didn't take their words and placate themselves... so I felt... close...

But... but _he_...

It was stupid. I was stupid. We were teenage boys, of course he'd mention some of the girls to me. And he was himself. He couldn't read me like that—we knew each other for years, for the longest time, and when I came out my parents finally made the choice they'd been hiding to themselves for years, to drop me, whatever. His parents were cool. I liked them. I liked him—no... oh, we all knew it was more than that.

He couldn't read people. He was a bit rash. He was a bit slow.  
He said he loved me.

Of course he'd be attracted. Of course he'd forget. Of course he'd lose sight of his stupid, mute boyfriend in the sea of those casually feminine woes, of course I'd stop mattering, of course he'd _forget_ , of course, of course, of course.

I tried to smile. I think it worked.

Io wrapped her little self about me, pulled me into one of her tightly gentle hugs, her special Io hugs.

With a sigh, with a shake of his head, Joe merely smiled his sad Joe smile. The one he gave himself when he thought about his girlfriend. The one that strangely, when I saw it, felt precious, something not to be forgotten so easily. Something I wanted to hold, to protect.

Daichi had a laugh. It was his Daichi laugh.

I hadn't heard it recently. I think he was breaking down in the effects of the crisis.

I don't think it helped that I wasn't.

Gripping the pen, I wrote hard on the paper:

 **ITS ALRIGHT**

They didn't believe me. It's whatever. I didn't think they would anyways. They were... good... at reading me.

My head tilted with the bump on my face, the grimace. But I was alright. Of course...

Taking in the sight of me, there was a lull in conversation. Joe gently cupped the paper out of my hands; he stepped back some, and whatever he saw in me must've been a bit hard for him, because he stepped back more and paused for a time.

Shaking herself, squeezing me, Io murmured her sweet lulls of tone; then she stirred too, glimpsing in the direction of our friend and watching with drawn eyes. When Joe returned he brought in with him the notion of Yamato, and the meal we just had, and what Yamato told us. Something along the lines of a... a world, a new world, a different one very unlike this, one driven on... power, I guess: merit. Hierarchy. The thought, I could tell, made Io queasy, and Joe didn't look particularly ready to accept some sort of "strength-driven ideal" just yet, or whatever was going to happen to us at the end of the Septentriones. So the words didn't last very long.

Evening peaked and drifted away, turning the spool, summoning the curtains of the end of days and with it a dark release. We were still strolling off of—Nagoya, it was at the time—and sweet Io, bless her soul, murmured something about how tired she was and bid us well in leave. "I-I'll see you tomorrow!" A smile, a voice, and she left us on the barren avenue.

 _Tmp tmp tmp tmp... tmp tmp tmp... tmmpp..._

And then it was Joe, and then it was me. He seemed to shake off some long-held thought, like the occasionally, mildly-intriguing stone, only to finally roll his eyes upon me and say: "Starra, I gotta tell you a little something... I... ahh.

He turned away. A large, shady building stood out in the midst of collecting void, the high light of the hospital piercing like a tower shining down on this purgatory, lifting and calling in hopes of redemption. His face would pinch a bit when he looked that way. "My girl... well. You know. She's gotten me to try and pull myself down a li'l more in... you know, heavy things. So, uh, gimme a moment, alright?

Deep breath. Pause. Swallow.

"I _get_ it." Shake of the head. "We're goin' through all kindsa fun and here goes old Joe, telling the youngsters about his 'life wisdom', huh. Well... I dunno. It took me awhile. And... maybe it'd help but..."

I lifted myself, glancing in his direction. The shadows of the evening caught all along my cheeks, my eyes, the bridge of my nose. Scribbling, scribbling excitedly like a child had a hold on the canvas of my skin, and I dared not defy it, I dared not move.

"I just... you need to open up a bit more—you're like... it's like..." Joe's eyes veered off of me. They settled upon one particular section of the hospital, somewhat high up, where the more "permanent" of the patients lied. "I'unno. This is kind of off the top of my head—heh. Some guy, huh. But... You know that Daichi doesn't hear you very well... but you stop, after that. I think you need to reach out to him a little more, try to make him see you again... because there's no way he'd..."

The adult's eyes glazed over. His lips moved with a breath, absentmindedly, without the touch of word, the sound of voice. He stood there, staring deeply into the building far up in the sky, and far up ahead, too far to reach before night would encase us, and it was like he couldn't move, like moving would shatter this moment apart. And I stood there with him, and I couldn't move too, and I watched, quietly, as he watched the tower of a medical station, the floor up above.

His hand came down gently upon my shoulder.

I casually stuffed my hand into his pocket, and, plucking the paper, pricking my finger on the pen, I hastily jotted out, **I'm listening.**

His eyes played with the paper. Small smile. Gratitude, I think.

"Good. You do that."

He took the paper and pen and folded them up, rolling the pen into the crease, put them away again. It was growing to the stage of night that soon my writing would be but another stain of black in the atmosphere.

Still Joe waited. Not much longer.

The arrival of footfalls cracked on the street: big, heavy feet, resounding with a sense of purpose.

 _Tomp, tomp, tomp, tomp_.

The silhouette could be gently made out ahead of us. Joe shifted, starting forward, nervously back, awkwardly lifting a hand to wave. A head of wavy brown hair, a skin tone more darkly set than ours, and Io's, too. A profoundly-shaped face, sharp chin, narrowed and bold eyes that stuck to you as they moved. His smile was grim. Very small. Hands in his pockets, eyebrows arched.

"Hrrrm? Joe, what patience brings you here?"

My friend nodded, shifting towards the man in front of us. His usually slow and charismatic tone, chipper and bright, had lowered distinctly. "It's just—well—you know—Yammy's been talking again. I got the feeling I should tell you bout it, yeah? You've been a great help and all..." One long sidelong glance at the hospital, and then back to the face of the man in front of us.

Ronaldo Kuriki turned toward me, nodded sullenly, then back to Joe again. "Of course. What is it?"

I thought maybe I should wave too, like Joe had, but ultimately the whole scene made me little uncomfortable, so I settled with shifting closer to the guy I'd known and trusted with my life for however many days now, the one with his hand pressed on my shoulder.

"He's got this plan..." Joe's voice took another step down. He sounded hollow. Or nervous, maybe. "See, like... I think—apparently Yamato's going to recreate the world at the end of the Septentriones' fall or whatever, and he's gonna make it so that he and his buddies have all the... power, I guess, and then everyone _else._.." That queasy look again. His eyes dangerously darted back and forth, the light of the hospital frantic within him.

Maybe I copied it or something, but Ronaldo's hard brown eyes gave me this sliding glance, and then he was back with my friend again, nodding, thinking. "Ah... well. I'm sure there are others like you who don't think that's such a noble way for procession. And with that, perhaps finally my justice might be... well, it's a start." Slow nod. "It's a start.

One more look. "Starra, what do you think of... ahh, Yamato Hotsuin is such a fool... What would be so stupid as a merit... ahh, meritocracy?"

Ronaldo was quiet in the pressure of the dark, like for once he wasn't yelling across eons of people to spread his word, to spread against the Evils of Yamato Hotsuin; like everyone was right here, and softly he could tell them what the world needed to hear, and it would be everything he ever needed.

Watching me quietly, I shook my head.

I didn't know. I wasn't really thinking about something as big as the fate of the world at that time. I was thinking about Joe, wondering if he was around this guy more than I'd originally thought, wondering what it was Ronaldo did for him.

Wondering about Daichi. What Daichi was doing. Why I was so nervous to leave back for the night, meet up with the others, see him again. Why I was always this nervous now. Because I didn't like it, but it wouldn't go away either.

Honestly I didn't know what to do with myself. So I shook my head no, because I really didn't know.

"What shall we call it?" he pierced the air with a cry, "oh, but what shall we call it! Something far exceeding the hideous plans of that poor, lost _child_! Why, only my justice could say. But only! And with this justice I embed that there shall be not a heinous merit-driven _injustice_ of our people! No, but only one of _equality_ shall see the light of day! People, brethren, everyone! There is nothing without justice, oh, nothing!"

The voice came from somewhere far away, and far within Ronaldo, and it was louder than it felt like it was.

Joe was nodding slowly. "Yeah... I get that, Ronnie. I get that. Well... more than the other side, at least."

Their talk dwindled, and like he always does, Joe mentioned an empty stomach, so we left shortly after. He called "Ronnie" before we went, telling him that he hoped to see something much better than Yamato's ideals in the future, and Ronaldo's voice came with a resounding crash.

Watching over us, the light of the hospital beckoned. Joe's sunglasses were caught with the light. His pale, angular face. His dark hair, mostly hidden beneath the hat. His suit, his long and thin hands. The big, brown, eyes, and something else within all of this, something that made him feel special, and different from others.

I think I looked up to him a little more than I should've. I think it was a little too easy for me to follow someone else's voice than try to summon my own.

I think it was hard, not looking up to my boyfriend for help.

I wish I saw this before the night Ronaldo came up to us. But it's alright... I'm alright...

Thursday's Melanism


	2. Friday

**Oh man, you made it to the second chapter! Starra's a lil weirdo, I know, and he's talking about Daichi and we haven't even seen Daichi and it's all**

 **But anyways we're gonna see at least one scene with everyone (or at least I'll try to do that) though the main characters of this (Daichi, Io, Joe, maybe a couple others too like Yamato) will have more than that... and we haven't even see Daichi! Buh!**

 **Although I guess some people don't care either way, hahahaha**

 **Eyy person who read this far, who's your favorite demon? I swear if you say Jack Frost—  
I'm all for Hairy Jack and Jarilo, my favs!**

The Sixth Day

"HYYYYAH! TAAAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT!"

Keita was a bit worrisome at times. His anger made me nervous, and I constantly had this feeling that there was too much angst in him, like his prepubescent days never quite left him.

"YOU—STUPID MONSTER! GAAHG! DIE ALREADY!"

But I guess you couldn't blame him: dead parents at a young age, friendless for enough years that we didn't want to count, in fear of pitying him even more... Keita was a bit worrisome at times.

"DAMMIT! MIZAR, DIE!

"WHY ISN'T THIS WORKING! GAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

From behind, the soft and low mocking laughter of Fumi followed me. Her slitted eyes and dark, messy hair pulled into bands—like she hadn't the time for the insolence of combs—they irked at the voice as we rounded toward it. Her spring white dress flecked in cherry blossoms—cheongsam—while layered beneath her slick black JP's jacket still gave off a faint sense of hope.

Her attitude would deny such a thought. "Ugh. What's that idiot up to again?" Creamy pale forehead bunched, eyed sharpened to flint, still Fumi's clipped and low tone gave off that really, she didn't care what he was up to, but she thought she might as well wonder anyways, since our destination lied within.

Upon sight of the next Septentrione, her face darkened. She muttered, "I was expecting less of a confrontation," under her breath. One foot tapped—irksome—on the street. Then with the next breath she was back to business, calling, "Keita? What do you think you're doing?"

He turned and halted immediately.

Cold, steely-gray eyes socked the girl—or tried to. His silvery hair, combed back against his head, and his large forehead gleamed with a strange tyrant-like stare, alongside the eyes. His shorts and his jacket were bunched about him, mottled with his fists.

The demon beside him—a catlike presence—rose to look at the monster in front of it, but Keita gave it the same look and it stopped, wincing.

I think the demons could feel it. Some writhing internal agony that we couldn't yet comprehend.

"Dammit, Fumi! Where were you five minutes ago?! The damn thing is—it—"

 _SSSGURRRRRRRCH_

"DAMMIT STOP SPLITTING DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMI—"

 _SWOOOOOOOooo...SWOOOOOOOOOOooOOOO... BRRHHHHHHSHHH!_

We all turned, staring blankly at the creature ahead.

Fumi muttered a word I don't think she usually uses.

Our first glance up at the "Mizar" creature Keita so labeled it rewards us with a bulging monstrosity. Purple, purple, oozing purple: a slice, like an ex across its bulbous body. Arms and arms of miniature faces—tentacles, I guess—swarming outward as it pulled back, and back, and back, and rolled away with a surprisingly efficient speed.

Unfortunately it had left behind some of its... tentacle-face-pieces. Face tightening, Keita growled. "Dammit! There it goes!" He started forward—only to be halted by a pale, tough hand on his shoulder. Another growl emerged, as did a word rivaling the ones he's been using, but he turned and glared at Fumi.

She was still smirking.

"Don't you think that we should eliminate these 'split' Mizars, if you mentioned their splitting off in the first place? Besides..." Her peculiar lilt halted as her eyes took a jab in the direction Mizar left. Ooze marked its path palpably. "I doubt it likely you could _run_ and bypass it." Her nose wrinkled.

Keita, still turned, had a bit of a vein on his forehead. His nose wrinkled back. " _Fine_. But I get the big one."

I mouthed to myself, The big one? Of course none of them heard me but it made me feel a little better.

Surely, toward the back of the overturned structures, smashed cars, and cracked pavement, there lied a... "big one" for lack of better term. The thing, floating body, creepy tentacles and all... well. Its carelessness in all of its glory, spinning in place, certainly demanded a heightened attention over the other two. Mini-Mizars? Was that what we should've called them? I guess it didn't really matter.

Snorting, Fumi shrugged, releasing her hold on the punkish teen. He pulled out his phone—a standard version—and out, with a zapping screech, came a demon beside his white catlike entity, this a humanoid sporting armor that brought memories of perhaps the middle age. He liked those demons a lot, now that I think about it—the middle age ones. And the cats too.

With a grunt, he settled on the other side of Keita, who pointed back at the big one, yelling.

The girl beside me already had her issued JP's phone with its specified Fumi-implaments open, sending a flaming bolt toward the nearest Mizar. I darted back and unearthed my own.

I can't remember what demons I had in arsenal at that time—maybe one of those femmes, the ones with all of the healing power—I don't know—but we made satisfactorily quick work of the Mizars and any stray demons that came wandering by.

Glancing about the dissipating corpses, Fumi yawned. "Well I guess now we know who the sixth Septentrione is." Her lips drew tight, eyes calculating. "So, Mizar..."

"Yeah!" Keita yelled, stomping toward us. He had his hands in his pockets. Probably as fists. "Mizar—it like split or whatever every time I tried to get a hit on it! And then all the little ones were trying to get a piece of me too! But—I beat them _all_ off! I showed _them_! Damn demons!"

"Uh- _huh_." It was tangible how much Fumi didn't care. "Good for you, Keita. Now what was it you were spouting? So Mizar... a piece of it splits off every time you tried to touch it... ah." Her face soured.

We glanced sort of blankly toward her. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, clacking it shut.

After a moment of this, Keita stomped a little longer over toward me, pouting his angry Keita pout. "Hey! Say something already!"

He was always like that, with that pout of his. But he didn't use it constantly. Sometimes he had a smile, this sort of smile whenever he talked about "power", about getting "stronger", about his dead parents that were "too weak", and how if he had another attachment now... they would be "too weak" as well.

Sometimes I wanted to hug Keita.  
He probably wouldn't like that. At all.

"Dammit, I hate mute people! You just stare at me the entire time! Why the hell don't you have paper or something?"

Smiling awkwardly, I shrugged. Keita was kind of funny, but he didn't mean to be.

Scowling, he cried, "Ugggghh! You're worthless! I wonder if you'll finally die once we turn this world into a power-driven... uh! World! You know what I mean!" Pouting, angrily kicking at the ground.

Then he said, "Probably not." Voice lowered. "Dammit, why are you so strong? It's not fair! Ugh! I'm gonna _beat_ you one day, you listening?!"

His words came in bullets, loud and hard—or at least in attempt to be. That made me want to hug him too.

He had a bit of height on me, although not all that much. Daichi was taller...

"Heeeeeey! You're _not_ listening! Asshole, ugh! Can't you at least do _that_!"

I turned back toward him. His steely eyes, cold and glistening, settled upon me. There was a scowl ripping over his mouth, setting him into a rigid, almost intimidating creature. Like metal he was crafted, folded and pointed and shining and mad and something was strangely beautiful about it, something far within him that was... enticing. So I smiled.

That made Keita mad too.  
Hugging him would have been a bad idea.

"Ugggghhhhhhhh! Stop it! You're just pretending now! You don't get it! Gaaaah, one day I'll beat your stupid-ass face in!"

I don't think he could handle a hug.

I don't think he could handle a lot of things.

In the midst of Keita's screaming and my grinning, Fumi aroused. "Wow, Keita. What is it you're dribbling from that stupid hole in your face now?" She shrugged. She was holding our attention intensely. "Ah, no matter. I think we have a problem." Just casually.

Taking in my query and Keita's squeak—an angry one—she went on, smirking; " _Yeah_. So anyways, if we don't figure out how to finish up our little Mizar, I'm afraid we won't last the day."

Our silence grew... quieter.

I realized that the leer in Fumi's voice threw off her own acceptance of the likeliness that we would die.

Keita didn't, though. "FUMI! WHAT THE HELL! OF COURSE WE'LL LIVE! S-STOP BITCHING!"

Something akin to pity sketched over her face. "Oh, poor Keita." She enunciated slowly, "We... will... die. See—Mizar is going to keep splitting himself, the more that we attack him, and I'm sure that even if there is an end to those tentacles of its, we'll be outnumbered and overrun—completely—by little Mizarlings first. And. Well."

Three wasn't so bad... but... this was more than three. A-A lot more than three.

"STOP _BITCHING_ —DAMMIT!"

Eventually Keita's head cooled, but before then, it made me wonder why he was so against Fumi's logic. We all knew this dark-haired woman was much smarter than most anything we'd ever seen—and besides, this wasn't even that much of a theory. We saw the split bit of tentacle, we saw the gargantuan thing, we saw it get away, we saw.

That made me want to hug him even more.

As we rounded back to go tell everyone at JP's what had happened—and the possibility that _someone_ had an idea, any idea—the two got themselves into another bit of an argument. Well, it wasn't really an argument, more Fumi mentioning something trivial and Keita not understanding, and then Fumi calling him an idiot without using the direct word and leaving the poor high schooler even more lost.

So in the end he grumbled, "I hope that when the—the world gets changed by the Chief, that I never have to see your stupid weirdo face again!"

"I'm sure that's unlikely. There will be such a small amount of truly 'worthy' candidates for the higher ranks of the meritocracy that I'm afraid to accept your strength is... well, it's not that bad."

"Dammit. You're such a _weirdo..._ I hate it."

"Okay... you just called me a weirdo." She smirked a little more. "I take back what I said. Your imbecility might just be enough to keep you from top tier."

"What?" he paused, blushing; "sh-shut up!"

Joe and Io, I recalled, and Ronaldo—of course—as well—were against, rather highly, the meritocracy Yamato planned to create. We were beginning to learn by this time that what just exactly that meant was allowing, in some way, for humanity's core nature to change so that we were... well, _wired_ for this sort of hierarchy, that we fit into this and I guess in a way made us like this was _purpose_.

Io and Joe didn't look at it similarly, although Joe and Ronaldo shared in ideal.

I didn't know what I wanted. Wait. No. That's a lie. I wanted Daichi.

But that had nothing to do with the fate of the world... the fate of my friends... and me, too...

Softly Fumi asked, because she didn't mind my muteness, "Starra, yes or no: meritocracy?"

I paused. I didn't know. I really... didn't. Though I suppose in the cusp of last night I told Ronaldo I was with him, didn't I..? I digressed with the meritocracy, and I sided with him, I guess. Though really it didn't matter to me; we'd keep on living anyways, right? Well. No. I wasn't really thinking about that, either. An assumption.

It was whatever. I shook my head at the time, because Joe's thoughts were still in my head, and Ronaldo's grim, gaunt face was a little haunting to watch. And it was all right there—it was all still right there.

"Oh. Really?" She giggled. "That's amusing. I doubt Yammy will be happy with such a change of events... mmmmm. I wonder how he'll take it? Well. It's amusing, but it's really just a trivial notion in the end... auh!" She was laughing, a tinge of joking in her tone.

Keita grunted. "You got all that from his head moving? What the hell!"

"Ahh, ignore that poor insipid species, Starra. He doesn't know half of what he's doing. I know, it's a little pathetic, sad, I guess, but ah well. I wonder who will win, if you're not on our side... mmmh. Will we beat you anyways? Youare rather powerful. But so are we..."

Keita was still complaining about what he didn't understand. I think the entire conversation was going over his head. And it made me wonder, with these twisted words and tortured whispers, what it was Fumi tried to tell me.

"I'm just thinking about how much Yammy won't like this... So I presume that Ronaldo—I'm sure we all heard the rumors of his egalitarian ideals? So then... does that mean you're siding with him?"

I kind of nodded.

"Oh, I wonder, then... mmmh. It'll be interesting. But anyways, I get the feeling you'll lose, because _that_ Ronaldo..."

We didn't know it at the time, but we were both wrong. Whatever we thought, it was wrong. I get the feeling Fumi's not used to being wrong, so that may have affected her harshly.

When we told Yamato and the others about our new dilemma, it was revealed that he in fact did have a countermeasure. An altogether highly risky move, but a countermeasure it was, and if it kept us going until tomorrow instead of dying today—well—we had to take that chance.

Yamato... he was a... a special... being. Secret protector of Japan, having known about and controlled demons since times long gone, his family, the Hotsuin clan, had powers we'd never even heard of prior to this. The "Dragon Stream", it was called. A sort of chi, or, like, magical, spiritual energy that he had harness over, that flowed through... most everything, more or less.

And while summoning this power could be used against Mizar, stopping it before it stopped us... the Dragon Stream protected Japan from something called the "Void" that had already swallowed up the rest of the world prior to the Septentriones, to the crises, the disaster.

So if Yamato harnessed the Dragon Stream and empowered it against the latest Septentrione, the void would begin to swallow up our home, too... and the time press for existence, for humanity at all, would slacken drastically.

So long as all of the Septentriones were defeated. But only one came each day, and as far as we knew, there were seven, and Mizar was six. One more day, right? We'd see.

Of course, as pressuring as all of this was, it's not what actually garnered my attention: oh, no, the real caveat for this crazy plan was that there was another piece to summoning the Dragon Stream. There was this demon, this _demon_ , called Lugh. And Lugh needed a medium, to take his entity in power and give the Dragon Stream... form.

It was crazy. When I look back on it I feel queasy. The entire event sounded... surreal. I mean, everything did, demons, this strange government organization living beneath the Diet building, the people we'd gotten so... close to, in such a short time frame.

Even so, the only medium acceptable, with the best results of body and mind, was, of course, the kindest and most precious soul out of all of us. It's only _reasonable_ that _Io_ would be chosen.

Well... I... got very, well. Clingy. I got clingy after that. I followed her around most everywhere she went, and I tried my best to alleviate her stress... which was hard already without the added challenge in that I hadn't asked Joe for the paper he always carried around. Maybe I should carry paper too... I never thought much about it. I guess I'm not practical like that. Not sign language, either...

Io didn't mind. Her sweet, soft, rosy self, her own fears and doubts—the likeliness of her dying... no, Io didn't mind. So for a majority of the time spent betwixt her life and her possible death—the summoning of Lugh, I stayed right there too. It was nice. It didn't fully help with my own fears and doubts—the likeliness of her _dying_... but being around her couldn't cease this warmth in me.

As the ritual came close and Yamato—on the phone with Makoto—the blunette further behind us via instruction—began the summoning, I remember Io falling to her knees and then, as if grasped with a great beast of a hand, surged forward, and upward, and upward, hovering in midair. The tiny brunette, just inches shorter than me, thrust into the sky, the air about us humming with the volume of power...

We had a job. Otome was beside me, her tannish cheeks jostled with red, eyes glancing worriedly up and down and gauging the demons and back up again. Mine followed in succession. Her blonde curls tossed about her head, her nurse's dress tight against her, like she couldn't be contained much longer by the pressure.

She had a daughter. Otome. Her late aunt's daughter—who she adopted years ago. Her tiny, precious four-year-old daughter.

Most of the others spanned out along the perimeter, striking the demons that found this reserve of power and hungered for it. If one did flit up toward us, someone would strike it down as quickly as possible because to harm Io even more... to—to harm Io even more...

It was strenuous. Sweat coruscating down my cheeks in droplets, in beads. Otome's motherly build kept her head up and herself together even as she shook in place, breath scratchy against the back of her neck. I think we both had moments where we nearly fell—or maybe wanted to. A dance between death and danger and the power of Lugh on our heels, in the air.

When a crescendo of light expelled from our little brunette, thundering through the heavens, then down, down, down and alighting in the outline of a dragon somewhere far away in the graying day. I couldn't see much, but I felt the shaking of the earth beneath me. Or maybe it wasn't the earth, maybe it was just me. It might have been. Not long after I collapsed and I stayed like that, sitting awkwardly, panting. Heat rushed within me, yet at the same time the slickness of the sweat and the chill of the evening was immediate, shivering, shivering. Deep breathing.

There was something about panting—the passage of air in throat—that allowed it to make a noise. So I guess they "heard" me then. Otome, also sitting, scooted closer to me, her pallor matching my own. Our shoulders bumped. She smiled weakly; I mirrored her.

Io's limp body glided and rested at our feet. She stayed like that for a few moments, unmoving.

Wide yellow eyes—Otome's—reflected into mine. She breathed in slowly, pressing a palm into her forehead. "Haaaahhh... ahhh... oh, my goodness..." she whispered. Her voice held a controlled and cool air to it, a slight warmth just enough to be comforting. Heartfelt.

I nodded. Oh my goodness. Scooting closer to Io. Her jacket fluttered like the wings of a robin, coiling about her arms, her torso. Pulling her weak, cold body closer to me. Otome scooted too. I think the thought of leaving these poor weakened kids and going to ask Makoto about the mission, about Lugh, whatever, wasn't something she could do. I liked that about Otome. She didn't bother with rules. She liked to tease. She had a warm presence... truly just like a mother.

Daichi's parents took me in after mine rid themselves of me. So... I guess Otome was a little like family too. I guess they all kind of were, in a way. Kind of.

But she didn't leave. Face flushed and certainly as cold as I was as slowly came the others coiling about the unconscious—or—otherwise Io. Nobody else sat: anxious, jittery. I held onto her. It felt special.

I'll admit that as the seconds passed a cluster of my old fears from earlier today began creeping back into me, replacing the cover of relief, of tire, that sense of putting hard work and agony into a budding blossom that finally bloomed. No—What if it—what if she—what if she never... never...

Muteness... I wanted to say her name. Ah, but I couldn't. But her head lay curled in my hands which I didn't move, and I couldn't whisper anything to her, but I could be there... still...

My head tilted. Makoto's stern whisper across the phone faltered. All we had, other than bated breaths, was that voice, speaking with Yamato about the Dragon Stream, about Mizar, about... about...

 _Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp._

She halted in front of me, pale skin taut. One glance toward Io. Fingers pressed into the phone against her cheek. Makoto's hair, in its braid, tossed carelessly about her shoulder, stuck in some places to her phone, to her stern look. Lips pursed, brow quivering, she asked softly into the receiver, "Sir, why could you not wait..? Nitta has yet to awaken..."

Her JP's uniform, in slight correspondence to Fumi's and Otome's, sternly cut into her figure as she leaned toward me, the static of another voice careening into her stony features.

"Y-Yes, Sir... but please, couldn't you"—pause—"I-I'm... sorry."

Gently she turned toward me.

I wasn't paying her much attention, more so to the girl having yet to awaken.

In the long-standing silence between Io's falter and whatever came next, there was a heaviness in the air. I kept looking up, trying to cut into the clouds building within the atmosphere, trying to understand why now, and specifically now, I felt... watched. Makoto, beside me, and Otome, further behind her, were quiet. The one on the phone—Yamato—with Makoto had halted in speaking. The latter was tilting in place, her face flustered and reddening as she waited for me to acknowledge her and understanding and coping with that I wouldn't. Not until Io...

I exhaled sharply; and then her eyes came open; and then I was alright.

Maybe it was my breath. I wasn't thinking about that; I didn't care: it was Io, alright? It was Io. Her Io giggle, herself raising slowly, carefully, her tightly gentle Io hug, and that was all that mattered then.

Joe approached, and the others, too, in turn. And by some point I saw the brunette and I saw that yellow scarf wrapped about him and I stopped, and, smiling, apologetic, I stood and I tried to leave.

Before I dispersed from the crowd, breathing hard all over again, my body obviously against these motions, Makoto called after me, pale fingers twitching slightly. She'd recovered most of her composure, pulling close to me. "I... sorry about earlier. I-I wanted to wait, but the Chief... but I..." Her dark eyes clouded; she shook her head. "He wishes to speak with you. Soon, if you could, go back to the JP's branch and see him."

Of course, I was nodding, but I wasn't thinking about that. I just needed to get out of there. I saw the brown hair and the scarf and with it came the school uniform that I wore beneath my hoodie. And I couldn't look at Daichi. I—I just couldn't. I recalled what Joe had to tell me at some point and I knew that nothing would change unless I did something, or he did something—but the thought of it, so compelling and sharp like driving a knife down one's arm—I couldn't think about it.

I was nodding, of course, but after proffering some sort of mute farewell and leaving, I didn't leave in any particular direction.

Past dark. The evening came hunkering down, and I had this feeling I was walking slowly into a cavern far below the surface. Makoto's serious composure sometimes formed in my head, reminding me that I was being missed, reminding me of what Yamato in turn may or may not do upon my absence.

Mostly it was Daichi—of course, right? What else would the forgotten boyfriend think about? The stupid, mute...

A faint hope had been born in my heart. I couldn't think about anything so I just kept walking, but I was thinking, too, what if he realized I was gone and he came after me. It was stupid, of course, I'd be more likely to find a pack of demons and perhaps meet my fate there. And, sure, while the others would be alerted by a death video of me... it is rather dark out. How easy would it be to distinguish the area?

Stupid thinking. That's all I was capable to manage.

And I couldn't get that thought out of my head, too, of—of being _watched_ , like there was a reason I was walking this path and I would follow it and find myself at the pit of some fateful encounter or... I didn't know. But I felt violated, in the shadows of the night.

As a moon, its cold light drafting through streets, settled on the city, I halted within the nook of an alley. Brick walls, hard-packed ground. Walls high and seemingly never-ending, bleeding into the darkness of the sky and unstoppable. I, trapped between the two structures, their shadows mingling into the ill-lit alleyway. Stopping, I tried to breathe. Tried to tell myself once more that I was alright.

It was to be expected that I couldn't handle it. None of them could. Breaking down and losing pieces of themselves all the more daily. Just... Daichi. He was superannuated and his structures couldn't stop cracking, breaking, crumbled toward the dust of the pebbles underneath my feet. Otome, a JP's doctor losing herself beneath the weight of a flood of patients she couldn't withhold. Joe and his girlfriend's problems causing problems for him... I thought of Keita, lonely Keita, and I wondered how he handled these things.

I think at some point my phone buzzed. Once, twice... there were people trying to contact me. Looking back at it, I'd received a death video. One of my friends in peril. And I had missed it, missed the entire session, and I had no idea if they had lived.

But I couldn't think. It was an excuse, I guess, and that was horrible, but really, I couldn't think.

I was so caught up in these thoughts and emotions that I didn't notice the sound, the tolling like that of an old bell, footsteps marching through the dust and the rocks and halting behind me. I hardly noticed the presence, and it wasn't until a hand flashed out and slapped the wall behind me, effectively closing me in, that I jolted and looked.

Foggy, gleaming eyes. A heavy dark trench coat emblazoned at the top with trivial badges. Silvery hair falling upon one eye, ending beneath his chin.

His face, held in a strained desperation, pulsed toward mine.

Not Daichi, some part of me noted. I was disappointed, but I was also stupid to think that he would go searching, and all for me too.

I think I hated it. Hated how dense he was, how others could read my blunt, direct feelings addressed plainly on me, and he overlooked, and he couldn't see.

That pearly pale face, full of strain towards me, towered ever closer, until our noses bumped and he ceased. Cold, cold breath billowed upon me. Flushed cheeks suggested that there was no easy feat in searching for me. No easy feat... and yet coming all this way. I paused, longing, looking into those deep, strained glances toward me, into the body pressing close into me, into the whisper that finally uttered from his lips:

"You're not going with Ronaldo. No, no, I condemn such idiotic deceit as the plainest assortment—no." Rapid refusal, a great shake of the head. "They cannot corrupt you. I will not allow it. No—No. You shall not side with that slime."

His first hand peeled from the wall, pressing into the back of my head.

Whispering. "I will not allow it, no, not in any extent of the word. You do not belong anywhere else—I am sure of it."

His second hand pressing into my neck, my throat, slowly gliding up my skin and to the bottom of my chin, cupping it, pulling me towards him again. Like waves he pulled, pulled, pulled... and I found that I was to his command.

The tips of his fingers were cold, like his breath. The rest of his body, however, thrummed with a warmth pumped and fueled with a relentless search ending by triumph. Yamato's face tilted and pressed into mine, and then his lips came over me, and I but melted to his hold.

Chill of the night air and the heat of our intermingled bodies collided and for a moment I stared up into the sky, through Yamato's silky touch and Yamato's silky purr as he kissed me, and it was like this overpowering moment fit into the crystallized nexus of a snowglobe. And someone was holding it in their hand, and they were watching.

I pulled myself into Yamato's warmth, hands tightening about him, and I stayed there.

The silvery-haired boy whispered into my lips. I didn't catch all of the words, but one sentence struck me, sent my face heated and warm in his hands.

"Mine, mine, you're all mine, Starra... and this grip, I shall not release of. Come with me... come with me..."

Friday's Trial

 **I can't be the only one who felt casually that Yamato had a serious thing for the main character like if you didn't choose his route he actually had an entire screaming speech about corruption and yOU'RE HIS CANCER and then he summons the frowny face of death demon style like the demons he summons and the positions they're in actually look like a frowny face  
not to mention the way he just smothers you if you join his side  
I mean come on**


	3. Saturday Early

**Oh, for the curious, Otome showed up at the Io battle instead of anyone else because I noticed that I... almost always use her for the really hard battles, including that one, and I was like heeey why not. Fumi and Keita have that little scene in the game, but I added a bit to it too. And well... the MC gets all those calls on his phone from Yamato, but I mean I have no idea why he has a phone if he can't call cuz deaf (can their phones even text) but anyways he couldn't talk to Yamato psh naw. So Makoto. That's probably the only time I'm going to explain scenes honestly xD although I guess I could keep a "for the curious" going? buh?**

 **Well! What is watching? What the heck is going on? What happens now that Yamato did the thing?**

The Seventh Day, Part One

Twice in the midst of sleep was I broken from it. The first occurred not long after finally reaching rest in the first place, and the chamber walls, dark and ornate with the reflection of night, cast an elegant sheen throughout the space. Yamato's bedchambers, as any would expect, sported a tidy, open scheme. I nearly laughed at the time when I saw how... different it was from my own, the mess I'd shared with Daichi before the disaster. Neither of us were all that clean. Clothes made up a patchwork carpet on wooden floor.

But I liked the change. It was relaxing. The sheets—intoxicating—soothed me. The atmosphere—pure—compelled me. And it felt so warm... Again, the aromatic texture was overwhelming me, and I watched as the flow of life around me slackened with my own hold.

I think Yamato was awake as well, but only slightly. His fingers were no longer cold, his breath a plume of heat rushing upon my skin. My frame of mind, at the time, could but hardly hold onto more than the wonder of it. Right there, my muffled mind mumbled, he's right there. I'd never expected such a scene to produce... his skin so warm... arms draped around me... it reminded me of his promise earlier that night, how he "shall not release of" his grip.

For awhile it was a struggle to comprehend why. Why there wasn't someone else he'd chosen. Why it was the mute kid with his hoodie with those _bunny ears_ , those _long_ bunny ears attached to the hood. The one who cared about one's well-being, and... in the end he... what he wanted _ultimately..._

Still I struggled with that lulling sensation, slowly putting me to sleep. I thought I saw something, envisioned, human, standing by the side of the bed, but even so I lost myself before I could find it.

The second time I awoke, Yamato's grip had weakened with the state of unconsciousness, but I could feel his soft hair, his soft head rested into the spot between my neck and shoulder. Slow strokes of breath touched me. I didn't wish to move, lest he moved, lest I awoke him. His fingers fell somewhere in front of my chest, connected with my own, though sometimes they released and sometimes they held, depending on the motions of sleep he was pushing through.

Daichi and I had never... done this before. Which made _him_... the... the first one.

I thought about this.

Actually, thinking about it a little more, as compelling as the kiss was he wasn't very good at it—I knew—I've kissed before, so perhaps that was his first too—then it would only make sense that this was his first... That felt kind of nice. No—that felt very nice... I had fallen to his shores, his sea of yearning slowly eating away at my skin, at my heart, at the core holding all of Starra Terr whole, sucking me in. I hardly knew who I was in these waters. All I did... no, all I felt... all I could hardly comprehend...

I didn't know why but it was tears, and they pierced the ends of my eyes. Curling and pushing back into Yamato's warmth, I began to cry.

The tears, like liquefied glass, drew themselves in lines from my face, in cuts on my skin, down my cheeks, down my neck, down my chest until disappearing into the sheets below. The slick sense of it left an imprint that would eventually wither away, but I could still feel it inside of me. Tear after tear after tear fell until I lost count, and I was shaking, and I tried not to provoke Yamato into consciousness and I'm not sure how but I didn't. Maybe he stayed awake for a long time. Maybe he was tired after searching for me. All for me...

And then my heart exhaled in a crash of feeling. I knew it, I knew it somewhere deep inside of me that right at that moment I was in love with him. I didn't know anything else and hardly had a sense of what myself even was but I knew that, I knew that clearly.

And for a time, and such a time, things stayed that way. I cried, and cried, and cried, collapsed in the hold of Yamato Hotsuin, this powerful, enchanting and yet wicked soul whose emotions somehow came out of their shell and came searching, longing for me.

And who was I? A boy merely older than him by a year at most. This dopey little mute boy who followed others without a question in his mind, without a thought, hardly, of his own. He was shy but he was open, and he could hardly comprehend much of anything at that time.

Swallowing, shaking my head, gently I shifted, very slowly, very carefully, as to not awaken the alluring creature who slept by my side, and I pulled his fingers close to me and I kissed his hands, just softly.

After that I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't sleep. I could hardly stay still. But I didn't want to arouse Yamato either... so perhaps it was for the best when the entity I thought I saw earlier again entered my field of view. By my bedside. Smiling slowly. Big, grayish eyes, curly white hair.

My fumbling lips, releasing from Yamato's skin, pursed to try and speak over what I was thinking: Who are you? Of course, he didn't hear me, but it helped a little with my concentration.

A slowly-ticking mind, working, working, tried to place a name with that otherworldly face, pale like Yamato's and yet even paler, his posture upright and his smile low. Thin features suited him, his eyes big and mystified.

"Don't you remember me, Shining One?" he whispered in a tone nearing my silent words than those of actual voice.

Ah. The... Anguished One. I struggled to nod, cheeks heating more.

The tiny smile grew. "Yes. I thought you would. Shining One..." His head lowered. "Your actions of the night prior... were rather... worrisome." Taking in my unresponsive account he went on: "The first day, you and Io Nitta rushed off to save your Daichi Shijima... and the next day you were strong with the need to save Keita Wakui. The next day was Jungo Torii, and then Yuzuru Akie, and then Otome Yanagiya—you do recall the death video I only sent you, yes? And Io Nitta then the day prior to this. Each day was accompanied by a Septentrione, which you—while I admit... _reluctantly_ —ended."

Oh. That was right. I recalled then, mind stirring, that last night my phone had buzzed—most likely on trial for another? And I hadn't even shown for whatever remained of Mizar... it didn't particularly bother me, but at the same time I recalled the hinting of what the Anguished One was asking, and my face flushed a little more.

"There was another yesterday, after Nitta's. Not to mention Mizar itself..." His grin lowered into a cold shell. "I was disappointed, Shining One, in your absence of both. Perhaps not as much for the Septentrione but I at least was expecting your assistance in the saving of the life of—"

My look, like a shout, silenced him. The grin returned.

"No. Makoto Sako survived the ordeal. But not for the reason you are assuming.

"There were already troubles in Nagoya after Mizar, after the Void's hastening, after some noticed your disappearance and others readied for their leaving of JP's to the settling of factions—egalitarian, meritocracy, in the morning. And I suppose Daichi's little ideal too... the group of those who wished against your infighting. There was dispute against whose side to take. It was... an unfortunate chaos.

"Merely Ronaldo Kuriki's bullet missed the intended target of her heart due to a shaky hand, instead taking her... shoulder. It is my belief that his wish was not to kill her, although he very nearly did. Fumi Kanno however found and retrieved her, so while she is out of commission, she is alive."

I breathed slowly, eyes drifting to the ground.

My mind was wakening again. I didn't know what to do with myself. My head was pounding, my heart was pounding, I shook and my face was chilling with the tears hardened upon it.

Perhaps my stirring began to stir him, because I felt a soft intake of breath upon my own shoulder. It reminded me of the bullet. Of the torn flesh in Makoto's shoulder. Of the pain she must have been in, of wondering where, oh, goodness, where was she? I hadn't seen much of anyone other than the boy whose room I was in.

The death video. I glanced down at my hoodie, strewn on the floor, and at the pocket with the phone inside. I lurched toward it, the bed bouncing.

And in lingo with this stir, the Anguished One's eyes fell upon me one last time. His form began to dissipate. "Shining One, I hope that you are ultimately satisfied with the path you travel." Something akin to pity touched him before the pale figure stepped back, and back, and shone to nothingness afterward. Yamato's murmur of voice as he awoke hit me again on the ridge of the shoulder.

Not long after the small faction he had summoned outside of the course of searching for me gathered with us on the streets of Osaka, in front of the JP's building. One hand I kept in my pocket, curled about the hard material of the phone. He gave instructions on defeating one of the factions, Daichi's, he said, first, declaring their minds ill-placed and easy to move, and that for Ronaldo to take them would be an unfortunate loss when we stood a chance.

Meritorious. Egalitarianism. Daichi's... third.

I pretended to listen. Daichi's name struck me but I wasn't sure what to do with this information. The night prior, it was the silvery-haired creature in front of me who searched and found and took me away, and... it left me breathless, thinking about it. My head hurt.

Fumi, Keita, and Makoto herself had joined Yamato's route for mankind. The latter kept skittish eyes pointed to the ground, her eyes somewhat sunken, her cheeks somewhat red. Her lips pursed together, her hair down toward her shoulders instead of tied up as she usually did it... since her left arm was demoted to a sling. It was the shoulder that held the cast and the brunt of the injury, but I guess casts limited movement of the arm, limiting pain of the shoulder, so there she was, swabbed in her cottony shield.

I stepped, clumsily, toward her, as the conversation lingered and died out. At tall stature, she overtook me by a good few inches, her head held as highly as she could manage: her eyes revealed her shame. Fumi, beside her, risked a few worried glances, before stopping and staying. Keita, the silvery-eyed hopelessness he was, turned and stomped onward without a look.

Yamato strayed by me for a time. His eyes followed my eyes and landed on his wounded follower. He paused. Breathed slowly. "You've always had a profound sense of empathy, have you not?" Pause. "I find that admirable... although opposing my own ideals in nearly every way." Pause... "Your empathy for others in turn boosts my colder exterior and perhaps, at times... _harsher_ envisioning. It is welcome."

Then he turned off, taking lead ahead of Keita, who muttered something trivial about how weak Daichi was.

My heart clutched; then I turned; and I stopped by Makoto, big blue eyes turning up toward her. She didn't raise all that much higher than I did—although her boots, thigh-high, a glistening white, added a bit of a heel to her. Her head hung low again, eyes dark.

Her friend smiled slowly, sadly. "Sakocchi... you should stop being so hard on yourself. For once in your life..." She drew her head away without taking in the response, tittering softly, like she knew in the end what Makoto would feel.

"No—I..." Makoto's voice in turn was but a whisper. "I-It's fine... If I was... stronger... I-I would have ended his... his rebellion a-already. I just need to... keep working at it... to pay my debt with... the Chief. And I will—e-eventually." She swallowed. Couldn't look up.

"Mako. We both know it's more than that."

She refused to look up.

"Mako."

Shaking. But she wouldn't—she couldn't.

"Agh, damn and bother..." With a grimace, her friend shifted away slightly, just enough to break flow. "Stop lying to yourself. I'm not much of a romancer, I know, but... well, I'm trying to be here for you." And then with a step, and another, she sped her pace enough to push her friend behind her.

I stayed by Makoto. I tried to keep enough distance that I wouldn't bump into her shoulder. She was still shaking.

Those dark, luminescent blue orbs flickered toward me. They steadied, then dropped, then steadied again, head tilted carefully. In her fragile voice, she asked me, "Where were you... after I asked you to..?"

She didn't add much else, and she hadn't the effort to press her concern. But she knew I was mute, so I doubt she expected much from me. I was careful when I tipped toward the ground—each of us halting—and I picked an old, bent pen. No paper in sight so I extended my left hand and began writing lightly into it, turning it toward her so she could see it alright.

 **Fell apart I guess**

"Oh..." Nodding. "That... makes sense. I've never seen you, ah..." Her try at a grin twisted. "Never seen you... lose yourself before."

 **I have. Just not like some people.**

Quiet again. Swallowing, her voice regained a shard of its calm, serious stroke. "O-Of course. I'm sorry..." She looked away, eyes darting back toward me. A few buildings, a great part of rubble remaining, passed by. She watched these ruins with a strange intensity. "Um... Starra, I-I guess this is obvious but... did you get a... a death video?"

Oh. Ah... I stuffed the pen in my one pocket, retrieving the phone.

Surely enough, my email alerted me to, upon opening, two new notifications. The first hadn't a subject but the one below it, the important one I was sure, read something along the lines of the questioned death video being uploaded. I swallowed, clicking on the email, playing it.

The site—Nicaea—opened up to its brand name, quickly setting the scene to one of the JP's facility rooms, this trashed by a few select corpses, and among the quickly-moving bodies a certain bluenette, and in front of her, a certain brunette too. His darkish skin, the sharp eyes—Ronaldo.

Fumi, in her cheongsam and JP's jacket, after a stern redirection by Makoto, left the chamber.

Behind all of this arose a small band of familiar faces. Io—Hinako—Airi—Daichi—Otome... there set a conflict between them as they entered. Ronaldo was yelling, Makoto had this look in her face but her lips stayed shut like she doubted her words, or maybe doubted herself. Some approached Ronaldo while others toward herself as more demons were summoned and static and corpses and blood continued.

The video played on with the sickening intensity of a television show.

By the end of it, only the two remained: Ronaldo and Makoto. Like a sick dance, he started toward her, then stepped back, like he was doubting himself. The entire time the girl in front of him held this stony, slowly-wavering face. Her cheeks held imprints of bruises, little cuts. Continuously shaking her head, eyes weak.

Then the gun came out— _swip—_ casually from Ronaldo's pocket. Another round of yelling. I could catch some of his words: "Don't make me" and "Please, Makoto" and "Greater evil" and "I don't want to," and they came out like weak disguises for ruthlessness, but there was a certain slack in his shoulders, a hopefulness filling him, that begged for her.

Only in turn she wouldn't move.

So he held out his hand. Asked her again, quietly enough that one could only tell he was speaking because of his moving lips.

He said he didn't want to do this, but it was his actions that spoke for him: a violently shaking hand. Shooting with that violently shaking hand as his anchor would prove a futile effort.

But still she couldn't shift. She just stayed, her deep eyes begging, as he stared and she stared back and finally, slowly, he fired.

 _BANG_.

Through her chest. Through her muscle, through sinew and bone and finally heart, through, through, through. And then she fell. And then she didn't get back up. And then the video ended.

Makoto watched all of this with an increasing pallor to her cheeks, and she'd shake at times, like she wanted to escape but she couldn't bring herself to look away, like a gorgeous play stood in front of her and she watched, captivated, as a piece of the set careened down, down, its shadow on top of her. Eyes red, shaking, a sudden lurch took her forward as her words twisted into a sob in front of her. Quickly stifled—I could still hear it in my head.

Then she was quiet again. Or she was trying to be. Glancing forward, looking back—we were the last in our line—she turned and she forced her dull blades of pupils into my soul and she told me.

"I wished he had killed me. The moment after he fired I fell to the ground... but it—it wasn't the pain... the shoulder—I—my shoulder did ache... but it was something else entirely, and it hurt... it hurt so much..." Shaking her head as if to dispel the memories. She spoke without a consent she could give.

Her head hung again. "I think I'm... in... auh..." Deep breath. Swallow. Another deep breath. "I-I think I'm... in..." Her fingers curled up into fists and she tried once more. "I think I'm in—in _love_. With—With him."

She couldn't talk after that.

Her soft, fragile voice, the way she so reluctantly let go of the word, put it out into this obliterated universe and the way she was afraid to... and the fact that she finally said it... It made me wish I had a voice like that. One with her manners, her honesty, her hope, her strife and empowering against it. There was a kind of beauty in her hard-working spirit.

I wondered if Ronaldo shared that too. An unwillingness to let go. A sort of strength that defined him in such form. He allowed himself a more blunt approach to his actions, but even so there was this similarity that I couldn't let go of. I recalled the gun, and I recalled the hand, and I wondered if Ronaldo saw the death video too.

And I wondered if he loved her.

Not long after the small trail of rioters led up into a slightly-larger complex of them. And the complex of them swelled with people, and it took me a moment to recognize the people within that complex, the individual rioters who stood out amongst the crowd.

Already there was a wail within their ranks. The hum of energy, of power, of an electric spirit bouncing off the walls, off the people, of the hastily-wrought phones and the wide-eyed demons.

Hinako. I hadn't looked at her in a long time. Bring, long rope of orange hair, big, open eyes, a simplicity that drove others to like her. She had a sense of drive, and a sense of decency that she forced onto those who wouldn't comply, and she was a dancer. And for some time now I was beginning to fear that Daichi had taken a liking to her. I-I mean—Io. She was at our school. She was sweet, modest, innocent... but as our relationship with her settled to a close friendship, and Hinako became a much larger part of our lives, and the way he would look... with the eyes of an acolyte he would go after and I...

My heart jolted in my chest when she caught on. Her awfully clear skin and awfully kind grin pulled toward us, through the rioters. Then she went back to Yamato—to Keita—to the hum of threat in the air and the collected front broke.

"FRIENDS DON'T FIGHT! KEITA—FUMI! MA-MAKOTO! WE'VE SPENT AN ENTIRE WEEK TOGETHER AND THIS IS WHAT IT'S ALL COME TO? A FIGHT!"

She had a commanding tone that was almost but not quite shrill, admittedly easygoing, easy to listen to. She continued yelling, her skin reddening, her drive hardening, as she watched and her anger began to overflow. The boy beside her—Jungo—an altogether kind and softhearted powerhouse, dark hair beneath a blue beanie kept nodding, slowly, asking us why friends would do this to each other.

Then the phone rose and the demons came out and the wail was overpowering.

My ears ached. I slipped on a slick spot of blood—I fell—I fell hard.

 _TMP_. Nobody noticed. Their eyes were in the air, with the demons, with that horrible wail.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I pulled out my phone and I stared at it and I couldn't bring myself to do it. They were... honestly, they were right.

And then I realized, wait, Yamato was right too. His meritocracy would help ease the wasting of resources on people who would only struggle in society anyways, allowing prosper with those who held real talent.

But Ronaldo—equality, peace. And... what was wrong with a little peace?

For the first time I remembered that this petty trial would end in a very, very real change. To everyone. To everything. And I hadn't been a part of it. I didn't even know what I wanted. Their voices, like winds, compelled and pulled me in opposing direction, and I had yet to even... choose.

No... no, that wasn't it.

Stubborn tears formed at the back of my eyes.

No, that wasn't it at all. I wanted something—no, I wanted some _one_. And I had since the start of... everything, really. Since before the disaster.

Yamato's hand slapping into the brick wall came to mind, and I felt sick. Slowly, slowly, I scooted back, skittering to my feet. Then back. Then back again, easily weaving between the shrieks of otherworldly monsters that slowly and carefully became realer and realer and realer until their spit was flying and flecking onto my cheeks, their hate right in front of me, on top of me, swallowing me whole . This was stupid, I kept telling myself, this was so stupid. What was I doing?

And at the time I was right. I had not a clue where I was going other than out—just... just like last time. And this sensation wouldn't leave, not after I fled and not after I was running and not after I wiped, horrendously, these stains of blood that were on my cheeks.

Somehow, the wailing was inside of me.

Again I thought of Ronaldo, and I thought of Makoto, of these two forces acting against one another that caused him to shoot her and perhaps be the one piece that went against his own fate, to somehow, sickeningly save her, only to ultimately succumb to his hate for Yamato Hotsuin. And I remembered what Joe told me just those two days ago, that if neither of us changed, then our relationship would cease, then I would lose _him_ , all because I couldn't stand up against these voices. Yamato sprung to mind, the bed sprung to mind, the brick wall, the slap of hand on stone and the cold calling of the sealing of a fate.

And I decided that out of everything there was to want for...

The Anguished One approached me. His twirling, glimmering figure raised a hand, and I took it, and his bewitching grin felt warm, felt thankful.

"Shining One, why do you return?"

I'm not sure what I told him, because there weren't any words to describe it. Words bore limits. Limits bore weight, and weight sunk the entity far below themself.

But I think he understood that. And I think he knew what I needed.

So he took my hand and with his incomprehensible powers the sky was but a landscape to be journeyed.

Saturday of Empyrean

 **Yes I do ship Ronakoto how could you tell what nooo it's not obvious I did not directly state anything psshhhhhhhhhhhh _hhhhh  
_ come on tho  
the chemistry was off the charts  
they had contrasting fate scenes and everything  
and and I mean they are so precious guys**

 **let me live**


	4. Saturday Late

**I can't think of any remarks to add... uhhhhhm. That's alright. You're probably not here to read my random injections of dialogue. Unless you are. Then uh cool? hahaha I get so random tho like**

 **Do you like Alcor, Anguished One, or Al Saiduq more? Personally I like calling him Alcor but I guess they all sort of work right?  
Although I looked it up and apparently Alcor and Al Saiduq are I think Arabian words and so like, Alcor (roughly) translates to "to forget," and then Al Saiduq (roughly) translates to "the truth" or something like that... so then I feel bad for calling him Alcor! xD**

The Seventh Day, Part Two

The clouds were puffy overhead. A creamy blue sky—so rich and flavorful despite the conditions below—opened up like a canvas. The Anguished One's clothes rippled about him and somehow I had the sense of them not even being clothes but attachments that held his body together. His silky long-sleeved shirt, puffy in the right places, red and black stripes, and his dark pants, and his swanky zigzag shoes. They didn't feel real. But I didn't mind. I liked him. He listened. I didn't usually need it, but it was nice to know that I had it in someone.

I didn't look down—at least, not often. The sea of blackness, this void, stained the canvas of the earth to null in every sense of direction outside of small pieces of ocean and smaller pieces of Japan.

The Anguished One's hand was cold too, but a different cold from Yamato's. A sad cold, a weak cold, one suggesting loss instead of gain. A sadness I hadn't seen before seemed to hold him, and his charming big eyes did not play with his feelings.

I had the sense that to let go was to die.

I tried not to think about that. But I didn't want to let go in the first place, so it was alright.

The cold wind nipped at me. Tossed my hair behind me, had my hood streaming. My clothes did not ruffle and unruffle in any sort of elegant fashion. I followed behind the Anguished One, entangled.

"Shining One," he called, voice rumbling in his wake, "may I ask what is your favorite color?" There was a soft, cute pause. "I heard that was a question humans like to ask one another. And I am curious how such a transit works..." He came off as endearing... which I hadn't quite expected.

Of course blue was my favorite color, but blue sounded a little lame, so I thought up the first thing that came to mind and I mouthed yellow.

He could hear me. Not for any reason other than a surreal sense that he alone carried. "Ah. Color of the sun... I wonder, what would my favorite color be, if I were a human? If I thought over trivial matters?"

So I asked him. And he took an absurd amount of time to think over the question, until he said, "White, I would think. Auh, Shining One, does white count as a color?"

I didn't know, but if he liked white, then he liked white. I told him that I thought it did, and that made him happy, which made me happy. So white was denoted a color.

"I like the clouds," he murmured on. His eyes were narrowed and tilted for the heavens, as if drawn to them. His soft, artistic voice that crafted each word in a profound and highly-placed esteem rolled over the word, gentle: _clahuuds_.

Softly again. His other hand reached out, stroking the air as it swirled past. "Where are we going?" He spoke it with a curious lilt, as if I was the one who could fly. Like I had a power, like I could do great and life-changing things, like I had something that nobody else had, and he was effectively placed with awe upon it.

So... we both knew, or I thought we knew, that truly it wasn't me going anywhere, but the Anguished One. That he was leading me. Only I reconsidered, and I decided that maybe he wasn't leading. I noticed that we had taken a large loop for a circle, and that we really weren't going anywhere. Which meant...

In a mumble, I asked him if _he_ knew where we were going.

He shook his head. "No... not as well as I wish. Humans are lovely, curious beings... but they are not constricted by a set path. That path, why, they can always change it... and it seems that you value and thus use this freedom often. So no, no, I don't have quite an idea."

The way his voice twisted toward the end of his words caught me. I asked him if that path could always be changed.

He nodded his head. "Why yes, of course. Did you not watch the death video starring Makoto Sako? In the end it was not you or any of your friends at all who altered her fate but the man with the gun himself. Is that not lovely? Shining One, you have experienced a change too... you so easily escaped the ranks of that fight. You did not beat anyone, and therefore once again fate has altered with this. Never-ending... how contrite. I find it fascinating."

Nodding, I followed his thoughts. He was laughing. Sweetly.

It is fascinating, I'd told him, and it's strange how different people are so differently intricate and complex and... well, before the moment I'd never quite expected Makoto and Ronaldo to...

She was supposed to die. She didn't.

And naught but the to-be killer himself saved her.

"Shining One," he ventured, "are you pleased with where you have led yourself?"

That made me stop.

 _Was_ I happy?

My eyes lurked for the ground, for the Void, for wherever it was the rest of the people I'd come so closely-interwoven with had gone—no. Had _stayed_ , while I broke into another world entirely. I swallowed as I thought, thinking about it, thinking about my friends I was thankful for and the friends I wish I could understand better than I did, Io's hugs and Joe's mirth and Hinako's awfully perfect face and Daichi's smile, that stupidly perfect, wonderful smile, that made my heart warm.

I swallowed again.

Quietly I asked the Anguished One if he had a path to choose.

"No, Shining One," he said, just as quietly.

So I asked him if it was nice.

The Anguished One shifted, turning toward me in the midst of the clouds. A lazy sun riding in the air had caught fire behind him, and it cast the front of his body in shadow, a shadow that spilled upon me. His silvery white curls twisted over his forehead, over his face, and his mouth twisted over his lips.

"How kind of you to ask... There is but one path I could wish for, but I am reluctant to take it. For to take it would hurt me, and possibly humanity's potential in the end, I would not know, but not to take it would ultimately end you all in a much faster, much cleaner kill. And I want for all but such a fate...

He watched me, curiously. Thoughts stroked his smooth and sparkling skin. Stars speckled out and suns were set aflame by the fire of life in that shifting face, and as he smiled a warmth lifted off of him, into the earth. "Shining One, I ask of you... would you call me... a name? Like how you are my 'Shining One,' could I give you a name? I would... like it, if you would use it."

So I nodded.

"It... is a name unlike ones you have heard, so I..." He gave a shrewd little grin, his face bashful. "Al Saiduq. Is that alright?"

So I nodded again. And that made him happy.

I liked him. The Anguished One. Al Saiduq.

We continued on through the heavens, where nobody else was and there was a peace. I felt like he was a friend, or and older sibling, or the older sibling of a close friend, and he was protection, and he was safety, and he was choice, too. Freedom to be naught but... me. Quietly in the silence of the air I told him about everything that had happened, about Daichi, about my fears, about the girls and about my friends and my fear for the rest of the world and I watched as he nodded and smiled and turned back toward me, that gratifying look on his face.

And then he asked me, "Shining One, what do you want?"

Help. I didn't hear it, and he didn't hear it, and I hardly said it before he smiled, nodding. Like, yes, I would like help too, Shining One. But he didn't ask me for help; the soft, thoughtful stare suggested that he had already found it, and that he would be here but I only needed to be myself and that was alright, perfectly alright for him. Though I guess he was being himself too; he was just different.

"I like humans, but I like you a lot. And your friends, too... I suppose they are all Shining Children, but..." Smiling off in the distance, over my shoulder. "You listened to them. And now you listen to me. And for that I am thankful. Shining One... thank you for talking with me."

He didn't need to say that it made him happy.

Gently pulling on my fingers, we began our descent.

Wind pulled like hands into hair and into clothes, its howling that of loss as we fell, and fell, and fell, and I could only hear that, the dreadful pounding of the wind in my ears, and I could only feel the chill of the day in my skin, Al Saiduq's candle-like warmth extinguished momentarily.

The world swayed as my feet hit; releasing me, he stayed in the air. A small smile was playing on his lips, and he was shaking his head, as if in wonder. Turning, he watched whatever it was that lay ahead, and he raised a hand toward that direction, and he dissipated into the sloping sky.

The sun comes up... and the sun goes down. I nodded, watching, the cold air collecting upon me. My breath came up in white puffs; my lips were chilled. Slowly I pulled back for my hoodie and I stuffed it on my head. Which helped. A little.

So I walked forward where his outwards palm had led the way, down a cracked street barren, for all I could see. Empty alleys passed me by, each one holding a similarly hollow image. Some came with the stench of decay—a stench that froze and stiffened overnight. My throat lumped at the thought of it, the decaying body within. At the bottom of my email, the one holding Makoto's death video, there had been a notice from Nicaea that there would be no more as our days grew numbered. I guessed, now as we chose our final destinations, any deaths that happened were unlikely to cease.

My head lowered. There was a chance that, if I looked, I might find a corpse of somebody that I used to know. Anyone I had met in the past week: and still the older wonders applied, if perhaps I may stumble over the corpse of a classmate, of... Daichi's family. I didn't know if I could handle it if his mom or dad asked me how their son was, how _we_ were.

Somehow my heart was warm. My skin came off dry and cracked and cold; my motions were slow and weak; my eyes I kept trained on the ground. But my heart was warm.

Voices began to hover with the cooling atmosphere as I went further. The sky, touched in clouds, drawing a darker picture, lit with the voices. My heart pumped _thump thump thump thump_ in my chest as I wondered and wondered and ran a little bit and stopped running and wondered some more: oh, _who_?

"...mmit, Jungo! Stop acting so damn _smug_ about it! Okaaay, I lost! So I'm a weak little jackass! S-Stop it! Stop smiling! Dammit!"

I ran a little more.

"Keita... I'm happy. Now you're on our team. And that's good—so now we can be strong together."

I knew that voice too—I ran a little more, then tired, then walked slowly toward them. The silhouettes didn't turn back, perhaps too focused on their conversation at hand to hear me.

The steely-haired boy was growling in turn. He had his fists stuffed in his shorts pockets, and he was twitching a bit. "G-Go to hell, that's so stupid!"

The boy in the beanie, with a good few inches on him, smiled at his tone. "I'm happy you joined us..!" He as well was pulling back toward his jacket, the dark fabric holding him close, keeping him warm, and he couldn't stop his soft Jungo smile. His dark hair came into his eyes, but it gave off a friendly, almost childlike warmth, and Jungo just kept nodding, watching the angry Keita with a brotherly affection.

Clinging to his arm was a girl. Bright red hair down to her waist. Head hidden by a white cap and a white scarf, little—badly-cut and badly-stitched—musical notes inside. She was small and hardly came past Jungo's chest, and her fingers were tight around him. Every few seconds he would look back from Keita and smile down onto the girl, and she would blush and hold a little tighter.

Airi told me once that her dad sewed the scarf's musical notes for her—that her _mom_ would've done better if _he_ hadn't done it. She wore it relentlessly. And she had a stare, this little Airi stare, sharp black eyes that came out harsh and intruding when she was asking for attention.

Jungo couldn't quite recognize social cues, but it was alright. The feeling was there, and Airi made sure he knew it.

Smiling back toward the boxer, Jungo planted a hand on Airi's head beside him, and he murmured, "I'm very happy that you _both_ joined us."

Glaring, Keita's hands went farther into his shorts pockets. "Sh-Shut up! I only did it because—be-because if I didn't I wouldn't get to li-like fight all the stronger demons o-o-or whatever."

Ignoring the comment, smiling in stride, Jungo nodded. "Yeah... I'm happy that beating your team meant we could recruit you back, even though now you can't help your dream come true..." Then he brightened again. "But now you can help ours, as friends..!"

Airi muttered something about Ronaldo and how she rather liked the whole "equality" thing but it was whatever. Then she grabbed Jungo's hand, pulling him back from the other boy, who kind of smiled, mostly didn't, stepping back.

He let her lead him around, but only her. Sometimes when she got mad she took her anger out on him, serious and otherwise: but he was strong, and I think he didn't mind. I think he liked it, liked knowing that he took good care of her.

Watching them go, I walked off in a haze.

Eventually I would learn that the teams had all begun to fracture: and when one person was lost from one, they could be recruited into the winning side. Only... as those who won and those who lost fell apart, the teams had a bit of a skewed standing.

Daichi had started with Io, and Hinako and Jungo, as I had seen. Jungo and Io still remained by his side but Hinako had lost in the battle I fled from that morning. Apparently Yamato and Makoto had dispersed from the scene, so not much could be determined from them other than that they were still around—Fumi, as well, had won against Hinako, and then regrouped like the other two.

It was the latter who ambushed—herself—on Ronaldo's facilities. She took Otome down, who then she convinced into her own team by mentioning of their _other_ friend and the _predicaments_ she was going though. Only afterward as they escaped Fumi lost to Ronaldo's coming after her, and she obliged to his side—didn't really care was her explanation.

Airi had split from him, as well as Joe. Not long after meeting him in combat—without demons—Io and Daichi managed to convince him over.

He probably only joined Ronaldo's equality faction for his girlfriend.

Later would I learn that his girlfriend had died in the hospital from her illness.

Keita had joined Daichi's—with Airi—too, both by a loss from Jungo. Hinako refused to side with Yamato's ideals, but she found her way to Ronaldo's side and—while she technically couldn't join, having lost from another faction—she told him what she had learned from the meritorious group.

Al Saiduq never claimed a side. I wondered where he was.

 _Tmp tmp tmp..._

My head rose.

 _Tmp tmp tmp... tmp—tmp tmp—tmptmptmptmptmp—_

I kind of forgot about him when I caught sight of the one who stood, breathless, face heated, in front of me. He wasn't near, and he proffered some steps back, but he didn't go much further, and he watched quietly. He wasn't desperate, wasn't needing—well. No.

He was desperate. He was scared. But he was trying not to be.

The open boundary of the street met us in between.

I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I don't think he knew either. We just stood there, kind of staring at each other, kind of not, kind of blushing, kind of nervous. While I watched him this guilt came upon me, slippery, reeking, thick and hot, and I really, really didn't know what to do with myself.

Finally, he coughed: and out came his voice. "He—" He lost it, and his eyes grew wide and he shook and he tried to start again. "H-Hey... man."

His voice wasn't soft. Rough on the edges. Kind of squeaky. Higher pitched than other voices. Contrasting to Jungo's low and gentle, to Yamato's enchanting purr, to Joe's thoughtfulness. But it was warm and it was choked with emotion, and I'd always loved that about his voice.

"I-I haven't... seen you around... lately." He tried for a chuckle. Winced.

I was lucky. I was mute. He couldn't expect me to say anything.

That made it worse. I was clay, I was trapped, I was freezing to the touch and I was to be crafted by someone else's words, someone else's thoughts. And I was miserable. I tried to swallow—it hurt. I felt so... filthy.

"U-Um..." Looking away. "I-I..." Blushing. "I missed... you." Brown eyes big and wide, landing upon me.

Slowly he raised a hand to his forehead. And he stayed like that. Breathing long, raspy breaths in the chilly air.

My mind went to places of a time before this and things that happened in that time and it all came down on me in this horrible, frigid wave and I was horrible; I was horrible, and that was it.

Running. Before I could process any thought outside of pure instinct I was running, and then I stopped, inches apart. One hand tugged on his arm—my left hand—then dove into my pocket and pulled out that bent pen and I pulled back my sleeve, writing biting, jagged words into my skin:

 **I'M SORRY**

I wrote hard enough that I broke skin in a couple places, and it hurt, and I was bleeding. But I just felt the stupid, stupid tears on my face. My skin was so numb.

He watched me. Those broken brown eyes watched me, then turned away, then turned back toward me. He was slowly shaking his head, this awful smile on his face. "N-No, nono, i-it's my fault... honestly... there's something wrong with me, I-I-I'm sorry Starra I—"

He broke off, watching, as I dug into my skin and I wrote more: **Daichi, you don't understand, I**

We stared at my empty sentence together. Blood ran down my arm in streaks, smearing the ink.

It wasn't something I could tell him. I thought if I told him— _if I told him_...

I was desperate. I was scared.

Maybe it was the way my head fell and my shoulders bunched and I kept crying that awful mute cry where no sound comes out but you can see all the pain on my face, but I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I felt him ask me softly if something scary happened.

I kind of nodded. Then I nodded more. Then I couldn't stop nodding. I would've switched to my dominate hand by then if I was thinking, but I simply wasn't, and **I'M SORRY** began to print itself all over my right arm in jagged writing and bleeding holes.

At some point he took the pen out of my hand. I'm not sure when. I think I was still trying to write when his hand returned and took mine, and he told me it was alright, it was alright, it was alright, o-okay! We both messed up. That's alright, everyone messes up, and at least we didn't mess up like way bad right? Well we kind of did but that's alright too! At least I'm here now and you're here now and... and stuff.

Daichi didn't usually speak to me in such a quiet, almost special way. He was dense, and his emotions were easily alerted and thus easily disturbed and when they were disturbed he got loud. He usually was the one to tell me where he hid his failed exams, how he felt after a disaster that hit somewhere else which we'd heard from news sites. He was insightful, but in a scatterbrained, thoughtless sort of way. And I didn't know he had this sort of calm spot.

I guess he did.

Quietly he told me were going to bandage my arm, and while he did sound worried about that, he tried to hold it in. He tried to do that when I told him I wasn't feeling well. Because it wasn't often, I guess I didn't see much of this side of him. It was nice...

I felt safe. His arm around me, his stumbling over an attempt at comforting phrases. His asking me in a slightly-exasperated voice _why_ I had to write so hard into my own arm.

But beneath all of that he was thankful. And I was thankful too.

I was right. What I wanted was Daichi. And then somehow, as if miraculously, I began to feel better.

Hell was about to rise from the world we once knew, Yamato and Makoto and Otome were out somewhere we didn't even know and Fumi and Ronaldo were a worrisome elsewhere—Hinako, too.

But I felt safe. And it was nice. It was better than most anything else that had happened all day.

A Saturday Toward Hope

 **For awhile I had no idea what would happen with Starra by the end of the chapter**

 **I thought about him kinda chilling and just whatever but I knew he'd see Daichi but not until I wrote everything was I sure that Yamato was booted haha bye Yammy**

 **I mean obviously there's still some questions in the background floating around, like what the heck Al what do you think you're doing  
And uh  
Ronny  
Yammy**

 **I'm guessing here but it is pronounced Ahl Sai-doo or somethin? I think that's how it's pronounced but feel free to call me out, hahaha... at least that's how he pronounced it in Record Breaker cuz you know voice actors**


	5. Sunday

**Mmmmh. I guess this marks the end of the fiveshot... haha, that's funny... what kinda sucks about them is that they're short enough it's not too much of a hassle to get done in, say, two weeks (example being uh me) but then you write five chapters and get kinda sad it's already over... I'm kind of realizing now that Saturday had two chapters and neither of them even slightly mentioned Benetnasch**

 **writes a story about demons and then has like two demons total in it**

The Final Day

The night prior, Daichi explained to me that he'd heard rumors about that final Septentrione having approached, but he and his group were skewed enough already against the sheer numbers of Yamato and JP's members alongside Ronaldo and rioters that they hadn't exactly... searched. He thought that one of the other two teams found it, possibly Yamato since we hadn't seen him for some few hours now, but we hadn't seen Ronaldo either... really, anyone who wasn't in our group stood a chance.

He was quiet when he said that it was also possible one of them had been killed while the other claimed the victory of the as-we-thought final Septentrione.

But we had already, each of us, fought and beaten at least one of the Septentriones, so as long as this one had fallen too, there was no matter. I mentioned—via provided paper and pen—that I'd seen Al Saiduq and he hadn't brought this up to me, so we presumed that it wasn't too much of a matter we hadn't been the ones to specifically finish it.

I didn't mind. Daichi knew enough from the original Septentrione, Dubhe, to tell that I didn't particularly like defeating them, which he kind of but also really didn't understand and the fact that I was trying to sympathize with mindless killers made him overprotective for my safety, but otherwise it was alright. He didn't cast down upon me... he didn't tell me— _If you continue with this, I'm afraid I'll lose a valuable asset. And I'm sure we don't want that_.

That was Yamato. That wasn't... my boyfriend.

Either way... as far as we could tell, all seven had been defeated and on this next day if not the night before, Polaris herself, administrator of the Universe and every world dwelling within it, would take her liking to us and ask us, if we were worthy, how we wished to change our world so that it suited her standards to "purpose" this time, and so that we wouldn't be decimated in her palm.

In the morning these questions grew far more significant. Because today... well, either way, it had to be today, right? The seven Septentriones—each named after a star of the Big Dipper—and we had finished all seven of those and so it was likely the gates to Polaris would be opened soon. Daichi was—understandably—nervous: other groups gone, and although ours held majority there was still the fact that the strongest unit of each of the remaining teams had yet to be relinquished of this role.

And they were our friends. We'd been through Hell and back together.

I like to think that meant something.

On the way out of the JP's branch—Daichi had overtaken one, as had Yamato, as had Ronaldo—and now we were in Tokyo—on our way out we stopped by to check on a friend. Joe stood by the entrance, sunglasses gleaming with the early morning shine. He was humming to himself, and turning slowly, swaying, back, forth, back, as if a dance in a dream.

"Hey, Joe? Uhh... how you doin'? You uh... you alright?" Daichi stared, slightly annoyed, as the brunette didn't respond, still humming. "Dhh—Dammit, Joe, I try to be nice and you don't even notice... ugh! Joe! A-Are you doing alright!"

"Uh?" That summoned him. Dark eyes leveled off on the two of us. A small smile replaced his singing. "Oh, hey guys. Whatcha want?" His soft, chill tone had lost some of its liveliness... perhaps leeched after the loss of his girlfriend.

I realized then that maybe it wasn't a good idea for the _both_ of us to go in and—

Daichi intervened, waving a hand in my unfocused face. "I just wanted to know if you felt okay! God, Joe, yoooooou don't listennnn!"

"Maaan, ain't that the truth." Soft chuckle. "But really"—his voice lowered, eyes losing their gleam—"I... think I'll be okay. I mean... she wouldn't want me to blame myself... _forever..._ would she? Ahh, and that's the worse though, right? It's like...

He was looking at us, and then he was looking into us, and his forehead bunched with a weight, like the rotting of decayed wood. "She's too nice for me, like I didn't deserve it... and I keep thinking—I-I keep thinking, if I wasn't late, if I was... just a little faster... for _once_ in my life... I at least would've seen her before she...

"But I didn't." Sigh. "No... old Joe took the scenic route, took his good ol' time, and let his girl die alone. Hahh..."

His smile returned, his sad, self-deprecating Joe smile. Shaking his head, releasing a breath, that sad, sad Joe smile returned. His eyes lingered back toward the window, and out the window, but he wasn't looking through the window, either. I had the feeling he saw something that we couldn't imagine. Joe was in... pain.

He started. "Hey—what's..." He paused. Blinked. "No way." And with that he pushed past us and he was out of the building.

Dumbfounded, Daichi tugged on my arm—the one without the bandaging—and we went after. Up the street, up another, up and outwards, into one of the small parks in Tokyo. I didn't catch the name; Joe just... kept going.

He must've remembered something through that window.

In the midst of the park—somewhat green after the effects of the disasters—lied a tree. A small tree. One of the few that was still standing. Joe ducked under the branches and gently, carefully snapped off something. When he resurfaced, he revealed the hard red core of an apple within his palm. He held it gently, with purpose, with meaning, this apple.

Eyes over it, he murmured, "Fruit, huh... Oh, hey. Isn't that something girls like... fruit, and candy... and flowers." He paused. "Oh, huh. Maybe it's because they roll off the tongue so nicely, yeah? Haha... hah..."

"Yeaaah, huh..." Daichi giggled. "That's funny, I guess... unless you're being weird again." I nodded a little, smiling against my boyfriend's concern.

It helped with Joe. His sad smile shifted, if but slightly, on his face. "Uh huh, riight? Riiight? Haha... Fruit, candy... oooh, Timor..."

"Joe, what the hell is it with you and East Timor?"

"Oh! Actually my girl wanted to go there when she got... better enough for it."

Daichi's face paled as he recalled his tone of voice. "That's actually... kinda cool. Uh. Sorry." Cough. His face flushed.

Joe hadn't really noticed. He was still watching the apple, smiling slightly. Then he looked back toward us and startled, blinking, like he'd forgotten we were there. "Hmm... I think I'll go... uh, 'give' this to her... yeah. I'll leave it... by her grave. Does that make sense? I think that makes sense. It's just... something I want to do..."

"You should... totally do it, then." My boyfriend watched him, smiling slowly, nodding. I nodded a little more too.

And Joe watched back. The apple he held by his side. His head tilted as he observed, wondering, wondering, and then he nodded slowly to himself. "Yeah... I think I'll go..." It was palpable how heavy the thought of the grave weighed upon him. But he nodded anyways. And he began to walk off toward the terminals, to go visit Nagoya, to go visit his girlfriend's grave, tossing back slowly, "Thanks," and then he was off.

We stayed like that for a time. Watching. Quiet. Then Daichi shook his head, eyes dark with disbelief. "Man... I never thought he'd... slow down. He's leveled out, dude. I never would've thought, after meeting _that guy_ , that... wow. It's funny."

I nodded. It was funny. It _is_ funny.

Softly he talked about it, and I stayed there beside him, and it was peaceful, and it was nice. He admitted that he and Joe, while they shared a few larger points of their personalities, Joe was also a flake and that messed with Daichi because he got so easily off topic and then forgot what was going on in the first place. But Joe was nice, and he was a deep thinker, and he liked being positive.

He was our friend. Is our friend. We talked about that too. The others. Daichi was worried about Hinako, who we hadn't heard of since yesterday morning—since she was taken out by Yamato's faction. But—like somebody told him my worries and fears—he tried to downplay the girl, other than hoping she wasn't _too_ badly beaten.

I think Io told him. She would know.

Sighing, he puffed a breath into the air after. "Man... what are we gonna do? We actually have majority of... consensus, and stuff, so once Polaris reigns her holiness or whatever, we get to say what we... wanna do. But... what the hell is that? Honestly our team... I mean, we didn't like the infighting. That was all. We haven't had much of an idea in the first place of what we want... Oh, god... thinking about it... kinda hurts. Heh..."

An idea. I quickly pulled paper out of my pocket, asking Daichi with my eyes for the pen that he kept in his. Gently handing it to me, I wrote out: **joe's girlfriend is dead right? And jungo told me his head chef was dead too, and io's parents, and airi's dad and a bunch of other people right? And it's sad and what if we could—** I unfolded more of the paper, writing heatedly— **like reverse that? like what if polaris could reverse that?**

"Uh." Daichi blinked. "I dunno. I guess she's supreme leader but... could she do that? And... I mean, I'm totally down with that, that'd be great but like... Polaris came down on our earth because we had... no purpose, right? So... I mean, would restoring the world help _stop_ whatever it is Polaris is so mad at us about or... damn, that would've been cool, too..." He was thinking about it then, forehead bunching.

"Oh I assure you, Daichi Shijima, that it is entirely possible for Polaris to, as you so put it, 'restore the world'."

We looked up. Daichi squeaked.

Al Saiduq was upon us. With a small smile, he landed, nodding to our little group. "Hello, Shining One"—to me—"and I apologize for startling you, Daichi Shijima."

My boyfriend kind of squeaked again, kind of blushed, and I think he was a little too surprised to do much else.

In turn nodded he. "Yes... I think that would be a rather nice idea, too. The world erased of its havoc from before... returned to its original state that, while imperfect, was rather... charming. Humanity's potential is so very contrite, no? Haha..." Shaking head. "But you are correct, Daichi Shijima, in the assumption that Polaris may not very well wish this for humanity. I fear it possible for the same occurrences to repeat under her rule... Her seeing you without purpose, the End of Days again..."

"Buhhh!" Daichi pouted. "What's her problem? What's... so _bad_ about us that we all have to _die_? I-I mean... I guess I can get what she's saying. There are people out there who really aren't... the greatest guys. We all saw the Nicaea abusers who, like, have tried to steal from us and _kill_ us I don't know how many times..! But... still..! What's so... _wrong_ about this world?"

"Ah, Daichi Shijima..." Al Saiduq paused. "You humans are... enchanting in your ways, and all so different. It saddens me that Polaris sees indifferently to this... freedom... and I wish I would understand but I wish harder for... I do not know, a better plan of action?"

I asked him if we could overthrow Polaris then.

"...Shining One..!

Then he paused again, thinking. "Ah. You may be onto something..."

Daichi's eyes glossed from him to me, then to him again. "Uhhhh, what? Y-You know I can't hear a mute voice, right? Whatever the hell it is with you, whatever, that's you, I don't..." He spluttered again, eyes boring into me. "Wh-What is it?"

"Ah. My apologies, Daichi Shijima." Al Saiduq grinned slowly. "Our Shining One asked me if it possible to _destroy_ Polaris instead of allowing her judgment, like a fist, to encase any and all reason we wish for. He asks for..." Silvery-white eyes lit. "For freedom, yes? Freedom...

His head tilted toward the sky, and his eyes closed, and his tiny, imperceptible smile wove through his lips and that word, freedom, held so comfortably within him, like he had found his purpose, and he was beyond sated. Going on, the white-haired entity murmured, "Yes... I believe your potential far above the concepts of Polaris..."

"O-Ohhh." Daichi was trying to nod. His dark eyes darted toward me and stayed there. "We destroy the current... like, ruler of... the universe? Of everything? And then maybe, while we're at it—I dunno—rewind time back before any of that Void and Septentrione business occurred..? Dude, I'm sorry but that sounds kind of insane..." He was watching me with this wariness. He wanted to believe me, but the thought of it all—restore our world back to before—take down the ruler who found us unworthy to live any longer—did come off as a great weight.

And under normal circumstances... or what we'd considered normal a week ago, this wasn't considered possible. Any of this.

My boyfriend's eyes followed from me to Al Saiduq and back to me again, wincing, and whence he stopped and stared into the anguished one's eyes did he cease and watch the bright, emanating hope from his face. "Yes... I understand that this comes off as... unbelievable, for all of you. But... I promise you that this is the truth, and naught but. Like Yamato's plan to change the root of mankind to that of a survival system, a meritocracy of talent, and like Ronaldo's envisioning of a world where, instead, mankind reverts toward a total peace... this is but the surface of what Polaris is capable of."

He's nodding. Slowly. Takes my hand. "So... what you're saying is that we can totally kick the administrator's ass and then... well. What I've been repeating for the last few minutes, basically... heh. But... what happens to Polaris—or... I guess, that spot? That... that..."

"Throne?" Al Saiduq whispers. "The throne of Polaris, and those who stand before her, the administrators of then... and now... and later as well? I suppose it could go vacant."

Daichi squeezed my hand. He caught sight of me, and it came to me that, thinking of the kindhearted soul who granted us culture, who wished for us naught but our true freedom, there was one other piece missing. He glanced toward him, and then I glanced toward him, and then he sort of nodded and I nodded too.

"Could... could _you_ take throne?"

Al Saiduq blushed. His pearly cheeks ruddy, he averted his eyes. "Me? Yes... I could. I have the power to. I could... assist you... if it is your desire."

Would you like that, I asked him; is it your desire?

What do _you_ want, Saiduq?

And that made him happy, as it had in the past. Nodding gently, the smile returned, whole and open. Daichi gave our hopes a vocal sense, and the anguished soul nodded again, and he was happy to help us, to provide for us. I think it was after this that this anguish of his came undone.

He really did remind me of an older brother... or perhaps, even... a father, in the sense of how much, just how much he cared for humanity.

And thus it was decided. Daichi and I went off to tell the others, until we had everyone together and we were all finally ready to put an end to this world... as long-held comrades of a deep and dark age. We hadn't a sign of the whereabouts of Ronaldo or Yamato or any of their remaining allies—Fumi, Otome, Makoto—Hinako—in quite some time now. It became apparent that they awaited a moment of... attack.

Taking in a remnant of the Dragon Stream's power, leftover by where the others told me they fought Mizar those two days ago, Al Saiduq led our enlarged group toward the terminal of Osaka, where, from here, once enhanced, we could finally meet Polaris and finally end these sieges of her seven Septentriones and her Void once and for all... and the world would be restored... the dead of the past few days would return to our ranks.

The thought was comforting until up the stairs into the terminal we found her. Dark eyes hanging with bags, folded over her body behind the bluish screen of a laptop, _clackclackclackclackclackclackcla_...

Her cheongsam stretched as she lifted her head. "Oh. Hey boys. We were sort of waiting."

Fumi. She pressed in a few more buttons on her keyboard and something went _ksshh_ in my pocket and I pulled out my phone and it wouldn't boot. Daichi beside me cursed softly as he encountered the same problem—nearly tossing his phone at the ground until broken through by Fumi's laughter.

No phone. No summoning app. No demons. But this brought the question, as she hadn't a single demon of her own either... what for?

Out from the shadows beside her approached the one and only redhead, her orangey hair sliding out of its band. Hinako's face held the structures of a wreck. One of her glasses lenses had snapped. The awfully perfect face had leveled. She sat beside Fumi, grinning weakly.

The settling of footsteps and a harshly-cut although large and tall man tore into our confusion. Ronaldo's scrutinize fell upon the group, landing by Daichi's pale face. He muttered, "So it's team Tokyo first..." and then proceeded to sit down by Fumi and Hinako. A disgruntled look encroached upon his face.

"Uhhh," Daichi weakly said, "aren't we gonna... fight, or whatever? Prove which side is the—the victor?"

"No." Ronaldo snorted, batting a dark hand over the bent Fumi. Her keyboard began its clacking once more. "It's obvious enough that your team would win if we fought. Besides, I—I have more important things to attend to." And with that he was done.

So he had a stony side, unstirred by provocations: and he stayed like that, sitting, Fumi _clackclackclackclack_ on her keyboard next to him. Hinako, shrugging, didn't offer much condolence. I had the feeling that speaking would shatter her dainty position, and she knew this very well.

Daichi tried again. He nervously ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "So uh... you gonna join us? I mean like almost all of your team already joined us already, plus, I mean, we're all friends, right? We just want... the best for each other. To make life a little better. Uhh... right? Yeah? T-Totally? F-Friends..?"

Not a word.

Al Saiduq stopped next to me, propping his hands together like a cup. I pulled out the remnant of the Dragon Stream and handed it to him, looking back at the cathedral-like building of grandeur we so called our terminal. He nodded. Then lifted, moving on.

"You know," he called to Ronaldo, "your search may be answered if you step inside."

And thus he went in, and soon after a strange light filtered outward. A bright light that slowly grew in sheen until my eyes couldn't and I closed them and scooted next to Daichi who stayed beside me, and we waited as the light shone and filtered and weakened, and slowly we took hands and came toward the entrance.

There would be no fighting—not yet, at least. Fumi had assured of this.

She didn't stop us from moving. Watching, she slowly sat up, clacking her laptop together, and followed, Hinako Ronaldo behind her. She started immediately, falling aligned with Jungo, apologizing. His eyes had grown panicked, glancing back and forth and about the room in a discombobulate motion, his cheeks in pallor. The harsh eyes narrowed, and the eyebrows fell with them, and he was biting his lip, and he couldn't stay in one spot. Glancing, here, there: darting, even, feet hard on the shining material of the terminal.

Al Saiduq's upgrade gave the interior a large and glossy coat of power. The resonating hum from within the chambers demanded more than asked if the time would be soon, the demons would return, we would go to the administrator of the universe and we would... destroy her. Saiduq's face held a rosy, nervous mirth, and his was reflected in others.

Finally the curtains of dark, hanging to the shadowy edges of the terminal, finally these opened. Soft footsteps sabotaged the air and sent a chill down spines. Dark, stern faces, the raising of a phone in the air—the phone dysfunctional.

Makoto cried out as someone stepped in front of her—jolted into her broken shoulder—and she couldn't hold herself.

From nearby Yamato's tall structure, calling for authority, made itself clear in the midst of the people. "Ah! So now _you_ are in this game, too, is it? And _Ronaldo Kuriki_ , how _kind_ of you to come..!" His own pearly cheeks filled with a gruesome grin, and his eyes of frenzy lit. " _Alcor_ : What is the _eighth Septentione_ doing _here_?"

I darted through the crowd. Took up by Al Saiduq, whose person took the brunt of Yamato's vitiation. His words truncated the entity's mirth, and his hope in the calling of his placement for humanity, and caused his body to stiffen. He whispered, lips tight: "Yamato Hotsuin, _stop_."

People mingled and eventually settled about us when Makoto's fallen figure found pain again. Her cry she kept muffled by a hand to her mouth, but the anguish splintered across her.

Fumi's voice split over the crowd: "Otome! _Otome_! Come out, Otomeeee! Damn and bother, Otome, come out, would you!" The words carried and tugged into the group, and eventually the third party of Yamato's summoned herself. The blonde's eyes were just as haggard as her friend's.

"Ah"—Yamato's stone-like eyes found me—"there you are. Has he been corrupting you? Is _he_ the reason you disappeared from my sight, just so? Oh _please_ elaborate _why_ you felt the need for the sudden _miss_!" The words cut. His eyes leveled, sharp points outward, and taking me firmly they carved, and they carved, and they carved.

From somewhere nearby, Hinako stood and she looked about ready to yell just what she thought at Yamato: then the crowd shifted again, and she cried for silence.

My heart was beating in my chest. I couldn't move. I had to move—I realized that to stay here and let this man devour me yet again would be... a horrible second mistake to make. So my fingers found Al Saiduq's gently cold ones and held on and squeezed. I breathed deeply.

"Because, Yamato Hotsuin, the Shining One found pain in being near you."

He truncated again, whisking a hand in the air. Al Saiduq silenced himself. His eyes narrowed in turn. "Of course he did, _monster_. All of your brethren were slain... why is it that you are allowed freedom?"

Al Saiquq winced. I shook my head. He may have already decimated me had the demons been out, may have begun to decimate every last one of these people, one by one, until it was only him and I couldn't imagine who else.

The sleek and elegant and horribly enchanting creature pulled toward me, and I stepped back. Quickly.

From across the room, in the gap of the noise, I caught a lone voice singled out. Deep and throaty, warm, broken, begging, slowly coming to terms with a shameless flaw that had to be accounted for.

"I'm sorry, Makoto. I... I'm truly sorry for shooting you."

His words distorted as the chatter resumed, the yells, the calls, the jeers toward Fumi or Otome or the messy scene in general, but I caught snippets. I caught pain... I caught hope that understood forgiveness wouldn't be likely, and acceptance at all would be a great atonement for his injustice.

Yamato's gaze snapped in that direction for but a moment before reaching out toward me again. "You... _you.._! Your powers are magnificent. Compelling, controlled... ah, but if only that damned monster would release his hold upon you..! What a disservice," he whispered, then shouted, "what a disdain! What a mark upon society, holding back what humanity needs if it ever wishes to improve from the disgusting, insignificant _pulp_ it has degenerated into! Alcor, _release that boy, now_!"

Al Saiduq did not release that boy. Yamato's words took form in my head, and I registered that perhaps the creature holding me stable _was_ a... monster. But he was a friendly monster, which to me made him not a monster at all. I wanted to see that in Yamato, too, the silvery-haired creature of strange and otherworldly being who grew up just like us only in an incomprehensible world.

So I tried to reach out my hand toward him instead. He couldn't understand me, so I recalled the paper from prior with Daichi, and I pulled it out, and I awkwardly began to scribble a few words onto it using one hand with the writing in my palm. I didn't let go of the anguished soul who found us and nurtured us and made this group... whole.

Somewhere nearby, the voice of my boyfriend was calling. For peace. For quiet. For anything, really. Hinako's piercing yell joined his. And in that edge of the circular chamber there was Ronaldo's booming warble.

But in turn the girl told him it didn't hurt—very much. Her shoulder wound was alright. Better than—than before. And she thanked him for not killing her. And he apologized again, voice intensifying, because if she had the nerve to _thank_ his sin... it made him wonder. Good things—lots of good things—came out of bad things, or worse things anyways. And here this bluenette stood, shaking, telling him no, it was alright, the shoulder was alright when she nearly screamed after he blundered into her.

She came out of JP's. Out of Yamato's own watchful eye.

At this point Otome aroused and asked Makoto if she was flirting, to which the point it was obvious just _what_ Makoto was thinking as her pale face exploded with color.

The words I wrote out read **I admire you.**

Yamato's eyes widened, watching, waiting for me to let go and bend back into the force of his will. Confusion settled as it became apparent I did not have that in mind.

 **But I admired Ronaldo too, and other things. And then I lose myself in that which is no good. So I hurt people because I don't even know what I'm doing in the first place**.

Deep breath. I wasn't sure how I was going to write this. I couldn't even tell Daichi... the words were easy but... at the same time... I was scared.

 **It was nice that night with you, but I don't think it was right after everything. You like my power. You find my sympathies amusing but at the same time  
I don't know if you liked what I was outside of that  
You know a confused teenage mute teenager... a very gay mute boy  
but I admire you and I don't want you to be sad now.**

One more thing. Yamato had a strange look in his eyes.

 **I'm sorry for making big mistakes and then making lives big messes but can you join us as—** I took in another breath, shaking slightly— **our friend? We all think you're really cool and we want to restore the world with you and make it a better place  
because im sorry maybe you dont care but if we limited polaris to your one world there would be no freedom no choice and i dont think thats alright**

I wouldn't be happy in that type of world. A lot of people wouldn't. Maybe Yamato couldn't understand that, but the strange look caught my eyes, and he had such a stare as he slowly released a breath. I think he could tell that I finally figured out what I wanted, and it didn't have to do with him or his ideals.

It was... hard. Knowing that I couldn't say yes and that he didn't want that.

"Should I... _apologize,_ Starra? For the actions that occurred?"

I blushed. Shook my head. He didn't have to. It... It was alright.

And it was okay, too. For a lot of reasons.

"I suppose..." His eyes fell toward the ceiling. "I suppose that the actions which occurred would not symbolize an expected action in a meritocracy... no?" The eyes rose toward me. "No... I suppose not.

"Truly, would you take me into your... strange and yet... almost _wondrous_ dare I say plan? You want... me? You want... me—a friend?"

So when I nodded, smiling, I think that helped things.

Io summoned herself to my side, and Joe beside her. She was excited because after this she would see her parents again. He was excited because his girlfriend would be restored... and he would treat her right. And I think we were excited to see what we would be like, in that world, our open world, our better world... we wanted to believe that even though time would be restored and we would forget about this life... that something would feel right upon meeting. It was a nice thought... and I think in some way we were right.

By the end of the havoc inside of the terminal, the pieces began to knit together, and Al Saiduq stood by the access point, readying the voyage through space.

By the end of this everyone, all of us, every last one of us, was wishing...

And it was exciting. In the end, everyone... all of us... every last one of us... had arrived.

Daichi took my hand. "What'll it be like... I wonder? Well I guess you'll be there so... not that much different, huh? Heh..." He looked off. "Hey, um... thank you for... um... coming back. I was scared that we'd... really messed up... and I'd never get to... be around you again—o-or something... h-h-hehhh..."

I leaned into him. He smiled slowly, his head gently resting against mine.

"You can be really indecisive, you know? Man... when the world restores, I'm gonna try to remember and ask how many questions you don't answer on your practice exam. And then we can laugh about how many I totally missed. Heheh... that'll be so weird..."

But it was nice too. And I think that was important.

And thus it came... the End of Days to an end. No more demons... no more horrible disasters tearing the entire world apart... it wasn't perfect, but it had pieces of it that were pretty. And it had people I decided I thought were cool. And that was nice.

And so it was.

Sunday's Fruition, Toward Tomorrow


End file.
